


Die Young

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 90s music, Alternate Universe - No Exy, Andrew has pink hair and tattoos, Anxiety, Bisexual Kevin, Bisexual Thea, Cats, Disabled Character, Emotional Intimacy, Except Seth he is the token straight, Found Family, Friendship, Literally nobody is heteronormative, Multi, Pining, Slow Burn, Soft AU, Summer Vibes, Trans Renee, feelgood, soft things, twinyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Ever since the violent death of his mother Neil has withdrawn completely from the outside world. He lives with his Uncle Stuart and barely ever leaves the house. In order to help him overcome his anxiety, Stuart hires his favourite waiter, Nicky, to befriend him. With Nicky come the rest of the Foxes, and Neil finds himself being reluctantly adopted into a much bigger family, reconnecting with an old friend, and developing a crush...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is... entirely self indulgent and Very Soft, so if that's not your cup of tea then this fic probably isn't for you. It was also very cathartic for me to write because *jazzhands* I have a lot of anxiety! Whoo!
> 
> The title is from the song Die Young by Sylvan Esso which gives me all the Andreil feels. There will be a small playlist for each chapter (including the songs mentioned in that chapter) which you can ignore or enjoy as you like!
> 
> Warnings: severe social anxiety, some minor references and brief flashbacks to past domestic abuse and violence, mention of past murder, mentions of past abusive relationship between Kevin and Riko (but it's acknowledged that it was abusive and there are no graphic descriptions, it's really just a few mentions and Riko doesn't appear in the story). One flashback/panic attack about drowning occurs in chapter three. Mental health problems are mentioned occasionally. One conversation briefly touches upon the subject of gender dysphoria. One character is pregnant and there is a scene in a hospital in the last chapter after they give birth. If you have any questions, as always, don't hesitate to ask me!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta readers lscar123 and broship-addict, for helpful comments and cleaning up clumsy sentences! And also to Janie for providing me with ample inspiration in the form of 90s music and BSB expertise. :D
> 
> Playlist for the prologue:  
> [Garbage – Only Happy When It Rains](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpBFOJ3R0M4)  
> [Placebo – Pure Morning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHQngnnHE_0)  
> [The Cure – Friday I'm In Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGgMZpGYiy8)  
> [Suede – Beautiful Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqovGKdgAXY)

It's a bleary-eyed Wednesday morning in April and Nicky is wiping down sticky tables, humming along to his latest playlist and cheerfully cursing himself for taking the early shift right after a night spent tending the bar at Eden's. Thin, filmy sunlight coats the interior of the café like dust and the first morning rush has just settled into a steady trickle of customers. One of Nicky's favourite regulars is in his usual seat, his laptop open in front of him and copies of the London _Times_ , _Le Monde,_ and _Die Zeit_ neatly lined up at the edge of the table.

Nicky notices that the cup by his elbow is empty and saunters over to ask if he wants a refill. Mr. Hatford nods distractedly, then calls him back to the table and clears his throat.

“Mr. – Hemmick, was it?” he asks. His voice is both soft and scratchy and there are dark grey smudges under his eyes.

“Oh please, call me Nicky,” Nicky tells him cheerfully, balancing the tea tray against his hip. He leans in closer and adds in a confidential tone: “Honestly though, I'd let you call me anything you like considering the amount you always tip.”

He winks. Mr. Hatford clears his throat again and closes his laptop before steepling his fingers on top of it, disappointingly immune to Nicky's harmless flirting as always. He gestures to the empty chair opposite him with a polite “Please, take a seat,” and Nicky slides the tray back on the table and plops himself in the chair.

“What can I do you for, Mr. Hatford?”

Nicky beams. They've negotiated small deals like this before – an extra twenty for Nicky if he saved one of the insanely popular marzipan croissants for him that are always gone by lunchtime; a box of Tunnock's Teacakes directly imported from the UK in exchange for Nicky serving him the fancy tea instead of the generic brand that the café has stocked. Nicky has been crazy about those Teacakes ever since the last time he and Erik visited London together – though he needs the money even more these days, what with the repairs on the house and his car insurance and Andrew going through jobs like they're dirty laundry.

At least Aaron's getting paid a decent wage now. Katelyn is only three months from her due date and the both of them have moved into an apartment together, so Nicky won't accept any more rent money from Aaron even if he technically still has a room in the house. Still, though, it's good not to have to worry about them on top of everything.

“Mr. Hemmick – Nicky,” Mr. Hatford says, the casual address awkward and unwieldy on his tongue. Nicky doesn't know enough about British accents to place his, but he's heard him talk about Cambridge with business associates. All he knows about Cambridge is that it's a posh old university town – Erik's younger brother studies biochemistry there and occasionally sends Nicky austere sepia postcards depicting ancient bridges and imposing buildings, which goes together well with Mr. Hatford's expensive suits and fancy demeanour in Nicky's mind.

“I have a nephew,” Mr. Hatford says after some consideration, which is not what Nicky expected. Mostly their little agreements have revolved around drinks and food, what newspapers will be available at the café in the mornings, and Nicky keeping other customers away from Mr. Hatford's usual table. “He became my ward after – well, no matter. He must be about your age, if I may make an assumption here, but he is...”

Mr. Hatford mulls over his words again, a small furrow between his brows.

“To be quite frank, I am worried about him. He never leaves the house except to have my chauffeur drive him around, and then he will not leave the car. He has had a difficult life, but it pains me to see him shut himself off from the world in this way.”

“Aww, he's lucky he has you to look out for him, I'm sure,” Nicky croons. His hand automatically reaches out to pat Mr. Hatford's and he pulls it back at the last minute, uncertain if his normal touchy-feely type of comfort would be appreciated here.

“Yes, well,” Mr. Hatford says. “Be that as it may, I am of the opinion that he needs to be with people his own age. You seem like the kind of person who makes friends very easily, so I was thinking perhaps you could, ah... approach him, say, if I brought him here with me. I would be prepared to compensate you, of course.”

“You want me to make friends with your nephew?” Nicky checks, accidentally ripping a corner of the _Times_ when he leans on the table. “And you'd pay me for it?”

“That was the idea,” Mr. Hatford says primly. “I already have some paperwork drawn up, though if you disagree on the price, I'm sure we can -”

“Are you kidding me? I'd do that for free,” Nicky says, baffled, but then Mr. Hatford slides over a neat stack of papers and Nicky nearly falls out of his chair when he sees the sums detailed on the contract. The base rate alone is enough to make up for Aaron's rent and there are bonuses for every activity and outing, plus compensation for gas, food and whatever other cost Nicky might incur in the process.

He swallows heavily, thinking of the trip to Germany over Christmas that he cancelled and the two weeks Andrew hasn't left his bed now.

“All I am asking you for is to keep him company from time to time,” Mr. Hatford murmurs, pushing the papers at him again. “You will find it all detailed in the contract. You may cancel the arrangement at any time, of course. I will keep up the payments for as long as you and Nathaniel get along. He's... a little difficult, at times, but ultimately a charming boy.”

“Nicky! A little help!” Laila calls from behind the counter. Nicky starts, only now becoming aware of the queue that has formed, and jumps up, grabbing Mr. Hatford's tray.

“I'll think about it,” he promises with a weak smile. “And I'll be right back with your tea."

 


	2. Chapter One: Sitting Down Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nicky drags Neil to soccer practice, and he meets the other Foxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter playlist:  
> [Eels – Beautiful Freak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QM6SNrmH0r8)  
> [R.E.M. – Man On The Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hKSYgOGtos)  
> [Alanis Morrissette – Hand In My Pocket](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUjIY_XxF1g)  
> [Lene Marlin – Sitting Down Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZI1VF9E-Uvw)  
> [Radiohead – Paranoid Android](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHiGbolFFGw)

Thea parks the car at the side of the road. They've been driving around for the better part of the afternoon, Neil dozing off against the passenger side window as the radio mumbles staticky pop songs in the background, and Neil assumes that Thea wants a snack from the café opposite. He waits for her to get out of the car but five minutes pass and she's still here, the motor off and her fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“Why are we stopping?” Neil asks, unsticking his face from the window at last. There's a damp patch of condensation where he's been breathing on the glass.

“Stuart wants to have tea with you,” Thea says calmly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Thea insists. “He's waiting for you inside the café.”

Panic rises in Neil like bile. He tries to swallow it down but it clings to the insides of his throat, thick and mucous, and Thea looks at him like she knows exactly what's going on in his head. Her hijab is deep pink silk today, rich and shimmering; a bold complement to the baby soft pinks and whites of spring. A wet wind shakes the tender branches of a nearby almond tree and sends a flurry of tiny petals down on the windshield like snow.

“I can't,” Neil says, his voice cracking like an almond shell. Thea hums and flicks her fingers at him dismissively. She's heard it all before. “Not today. My head hurts.”

“Tea will help,” Thea says blithely.

“I want to go home,” Neil pleads. “I have a stomach ache.”

He does, a bit: a sour, chunky, bloaty kind of pain like he's swallowed something with too many edges. He knows it's just anxiety but that doesn't make the pain go away, and anyway – he wasn't prepared to go out today. He's still in the same sweats and hoodie that he wore to bed last night; if anyone saw him with his uncle in his crisp suit they'd think he was trying to rob him.

“Neil,” Thea says, soft and luminous in the darkening car. Neil can't look her in the face and instead focuses on the pattern of her dress. “The café closes in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes, then you'll be back in the car with me and we can go home. There's barely anyone in there anymore. All you have to do is go inside and have some tea.”

“What if I want to leave after five minutes,” Neil whispers.

“Tell you what,” Thea says. “If you make it past ten, I'll help you convince Stuart to let you get another cat.”

Neil bites his lip, looks out the window at the café's cheerful facade and reaches for his seatbelt with shaking hands.

Thea smiles at him like she's proud. It's a silly thing to be proud of, Neil thinks, shame burrowing in his belly under the flashbulbs of his anxiety. His palms are so sweaty it takes him two tries to open the door and he shrinks back when another car goes past.

“Enjoy your tea,” Thea calls after him when he slides out of his seat at last. He swings the door shut and crosses the street with his head down and his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders his way inside the café and looks around only long enough to spot Stuart in a corner surrounded with work.

Stuart is talking rapid Mandarin into his phone so Neil wordlessly sinks into a chair and stares at a coffee stain on the table in front of him. A chatty waiter hands back change to a couple two tables down and clears away their cups, and when they leave there are only two other customers left; a girl engrossed in her book and an elderly woman who is eating her way through the last remnants of her blueberry pie.

Neil recognises that pie – Stuart has brought some home for him a couple of times.

“Hello, you must be Nathaniel,” says a chirpy voice to his left, and Neil jumps horribly, so distracted by the woman with her pie that he didn't hear the waiter come up beside him. He's wearing a green apron with a cascade of rainbow pins on the side and there's a pencil tucked behind his ear, though Neil can't see a notepad anywhere. “My, your uncle never told me how handsome you are! I'm Nicky, by the way. What can I get you?”

Neil freezes under the onslaught of words, hands knotted tight in his pocket. Stuart is still talking into his phone and Nicky is waiting with an expectant smile on his face. Neil can feel himself sweat under his hoodie but his mouth just won't open to form a reply.

“Hmm,” Nicky hums, tilting his head to the side. “How about some tea? The fancy stuff that your uncle likes?”

Neil manages a nod and Nicky beams and bustles off to make his tea. Stuart finally gets off the phone, cracks a brittle smile at him, and clears some of his things off the table to make space.

“Well, this is a nice change,” Stuart says. “I was starting to think Thea had abducted you.”

“Don't,” Neil says. He can't bear this kind of talk today. When he looks up the clock on the wall informs him mockingly that only seven minutes have passed, and then Nicky is back with his tea and a refill for Stuart as well as a plate of blueberry pie.

“Last slice,” he says conspiratorially. “On the house. We'd only have to toss it otherwise.”

“Thank you, Nicky,” Stuart says stiffly and pushes the plate to Neil. “Would you excuse me a moment? I have to take another call.”

He leaves the table with his phone and Nicky plonks himself down in the chair across from Neil with a heavy sigh, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders.

“Busy day,” he explains, though he's smiling as he says it. “I mean, good for the café, obviously, but I've been on my feet since six and these shoes are killing me... So, Nathaniel, your uncle tells me you like running?”

The clock is ticking steadily toward the ten minute mark but Neil can't just get up and leave now while Nicky's still talking to him. He stalls by fiddling with the teabag, slops hot water over his sleeve and jostles the plate with the pie by accident so the fork slides off with a clatter. His cheeks feel hot and his mouth has gone kind of quivery; there's no way the words will come out anything but weird and distorted if he says something now. He tries another nod and Nicky seems to take this as encouragement to talk more.

“Cool, cool. Listen, have you ever played soccer? Thing is, my cousins and me, we're on this like, casual weekend kinda team where we get together every once in a while and just play for fun, you know what I mean? And we could really use another striker, or anything really. Doesn't matter if you've played before, most of us are pretty shit – well, except for Kevin but Kevin's an android, he doesn't count – alright, Dan and Jean and Allison are pretty decent, and Andrew would be if he – well, anyway. What do you say? Your uncle thought you might like to give it a go so... Here, you know what, I'll just write down the details for you and you can join us whenever.”

He pats his pockets but comes up empty and has to jog back behind the counter to retrieve a crumpled notepad. Neil tries to plaster a somewhat-interested smile on his face and shoves the note in his pocket without looking at it. He already knows he won't go.

“Neat,” Nicky says, giving him two thumbs-up. “I promise we're all super nice. Well, almost all of us, my cousins are kind of – but they have their own charm, you know? You'll get used to them. Why don't you drink your tea? It's not Earl Grey, don't worry. Did you know, the first time your uncle came in here and I served him Earl Grey I thought he was going to murder me? Is it a family thing? Because I can make you Earl Grey if you like...”

For some reason Nicky keeps talking. Neil starts to relax a bit when he realises Nicky doesn't really expect him to talk back, but it's still awkward as hell and Stuart remains elusive. Neil can see him beyond the window, smoking and talking into his phone, gesturing sparsely from time to time. It reminds him of his mom and he turns his gaze back to his untouched plate.

“...And then there's Matt, he's a total cutie _and_ he's bi, so sad he's with Dan or I would've snatched that right up – oh...”

Nicky trails off. He's staring at the door, gaping a little, and Neil twists around again and sees a short blond guy leaning on a crutch and wearing what looks even more like sleepwear than Neil's own sweats and hoodie combo. He looks pissed off but the effect is kind of ruined by the pillow creases on his cheek.

“Andrew,” Nicky calls softly. “What're you doing out of bed?”

Andrew doesn't respond and instead clomps over to the counter, where he grabs one of the green aprons and yanks it over his head without bothering to fasten it at the back. Then he leans his crutch against the sink and starts taking the coffee machine apart to clean it. Neil checks and doesn't see a cast on his leg – maybe it's already off or it's a different kind of injury.

“Excuse me a moment, Nathaniel,” Nicky smiles, chewing-gum bright and sweet. He gets up and nudges the plate at him again. “Eat your pie, it's really good and I'd hate to see it go to waste.”

Neil watches him fret quietly at Andrew behind the counter and picks up his teacup. Just as he's about to take a sip Andrew turns around and looks right at him, and Neil chokes on the hot liquid and comes up red-faced and coughing, tea seeping into his sleeve where he has it pressed over his mouth. Stuart comes back inside and looks questioning, but all Neil can manage is a small shake of his head before he goes back to staring at his lap.

“Did Nicky ask you about the soccer team?” Stuart inquires, pursing his lips in distaste at the word _soccer_. Neil nods and shrugs and slowly drinks another gulp of tea. He feels like everyone in the café is looking at him but he can't make himself check. His stomach growls out a hungry noise. The elderly lady has apparently finished her pie because she pays at the counter and totters off, though Nicky isn't fussed about sending his remaining three customers on their way despite the fact that it's near closing time.

When nothing else is forthcoming by way of Neil's response, Stuart makes one of his many disappointed sounds and starts gathering up his things.

Neil takes that as his cue to get out. He makes it across the street and into the car, panting and trembling, and sinks into the back seat without so much as a hello.

“Hey pumpkin,” Thea says, glancing up from her magazine like she's only just noticed him. “Congrats, you made it twenty-one minutes. New record.”

Neil doesn't reply and turns his head away from the café where Stuart is paying and exchanging a few words with Nicky in parting. A few minutes later Stuart joins them in the car and drops a small wrapped parcel in Neil's lap, stained purple with blueberry juice from the pie inside.

“Take us home, please, Ms. Muldani,” he sighs, and Neil huddles up against his corner and closes his eyes.

*

At home Neil locks himself in his room and spends an hour engaging in useless debate with internet trolls on a forum he doesn't even care about. Then he goes down to the basement and gets on the treadmill. When he's soaked in sweat that isn't anxiety-related anymore he takes a long hot shower in the upstairs bathroom, puts on fresh clothes and ventures into the kitchen; where Stuart is making coq au vin barefoot with his tie undone.

“Nathaniel,” he says, in the same tone of voice he uses when one of the cats sharpens their claws on the back of his favourite armchair instead of on the scratching post. Neil makes a face at the name – he's tried to get Stuart to call him Neil, but Stuart dislikes nicknames and always reverts back to old habits after a few tries. “Look, I know what you are going to say. But will you at least consider going to their practice on Sunday? Nicky is a nice young man–”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Neil says, taking his blueberry pie out of the fridge and grabbing an orange and a banana to go with it. Stuart sighs.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

“I'm fine with this. You know I don't like olives or garlic.”

“You could just pick them out,” Stuart says like he already knows he's lost the fight. He dries his hands on a towel and tugs his sleeves down where he's carefully folded them up to his elbows, gazing at one of the cats who's come to see if Neil has food.

“If you go you can stop by the shelter on the way back and pick out a new cat.”

Neil looks up. It's clearly a last-ditch effort, and for a moment Neil is struck by the lines in Stuart's face and the exhaustion crinkled around his eyes like sweet wrappers. Prickle noses at his ankle with a tiny mew and Neil crouches down to pet her, feeling her purr under his fingers even if it's too quiet to hear.

“Thea's idea?” Neil guesses.

“Nathaniel,” Stuart says. Neil shrugs.

“I guess I could check it out. Soccer's not my thing anymore, though.”

It's not quite true – he just hasn't let it be his thing since high school and Stuart knows this. His uncle doesn't call him out on it, though; just nods and goes back to the task of choosing which wine to have with his dinner. Neil takes his plate in one hand, tucks Prickle under his other arm and heads back to his room to binge-watch another season of _CSI_ on his laptop.

*

Neil doesn't think about Sunday until he goes to bed Saturday night and notices that it's already two AM. He has trouble sleeping on a good day; by the time he gets up the next morning, he's had maybe three or four hours of fitful sleep, maximum. He goes for a run on the treadmill and eats leftovers from the fridge standing up, kind of hoping they will make him sick so he has an excuse not to go to the soccer practice of doom, but for once his traitorous stomach remains relatively mild-mannered. Thea comes to pick him up at noon and Neil empties his entire duffel bag out in the middle of his room and repacks it twice before joining her in the car downstairs.

“Ready?” Thea grins, swathed in magnificent sea green today with matching accessories. Her feet are cheerfully bare in her beaded velvet shoes. Neil has always liked this little detail about her – she keeps the rest of herself so studiously clothed and it's not even particularly warm today, but she hates socks with a passion and only wears them when she absolutely has to.

“Don't talk to me,” Neil says, pouring himself into the passenger seat. He puts in his earbuds and queues up one of his playlists that make the world seem a little less big, a little less threatening, and closes his eyes. Thea, bless her, lets him be.

The drive is too short. Thea stops the car in a quiet street outside the park and pulls Neil's phone out of the glove compartment, dropping it in his lap. Neil grimaces at it but slips it into his pocket nonetheless.

“If you make me cut my date short because you can't handle playing with the big kids I will end you,” she tells him ominously, ruffling his hair. Neil leans away from her touch and gropes around for his duffel on the back seat.

“What if your date turns out to be a creep? Is it a woman or a man today?”

“Aw, pumpkin. It's a woman today, and I can look after myself,” Thea says, flexing her admittedly impressive biceps under the delicate fabric of her sleeves. “But thanks for the concern. Now scram.”

Neil gets out of the car and watches her drive away. His stomach is in knots and he almost calls her back, one hand clamped tight around the phone in his pocket, but then someone shouts his name over by the entrance gates and Neil turns to see Nicky waving and jumping up and down like a cartoon character, trying to get his attention.

“Heyyy, hey, Nathaniel, you came, awesome,” Nicky chants breathlessly as Neil comes closer. He's wearing a pair of plum purple Nike Airs and a leopard-print bandanna around his head, both clashing spectacularly with the neon yellow vest that supposedly marks his affiliation with a team.

“It's Neil, actually,” Neil forces himself to say, because if he doesn't put a stop to the Nathaniel thing now it will catch on like a disease later. Having his father's face is enough of a burden already; he doesn't want to have to bear his name like a dead-weight on top of that, dragging him down.

“Right, Neil, sure, of course,” Nicky babbles, leading him over to the small pitch at one end of the park. Several people are milling about in the sunshine, stretching and shrugging on neon vests, tying up their hair and laughing together. Neil recognises Andrew where he's leaning against the fence with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and his crutch propped up next to him. His hair is freshly shaved at the sides today, though the faded pink tips on the longer strands are still there, either by design or because he couldn't be bothered to re-dye them. Neil fiddles self-consciously with the hair tie on his wrist – he hasn't been to a hairdresser in years and the last time Thea cut it for him was several months ago.

“Guys, guys! Important announcement!” Nicky calls, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. He introduces Neil to the group, putting extra emphasis on the _Neil_ which makes Neil wonder if he's told them about him already. Then he calls out everyone else's names and main positions and Neil tries his best to memorise them: Seth, big and unfriendly, striker alongside the still absent Kevin. In midfield: Dan, cheerful smile but built like a tank; Allison, who looks like she stepped right out of an H&M ad; Katelyn, today excused by her husband Aaron on account of being too pregnant to play; Marissa, bubbly ponytail and ill-advised make-up; and Jeremy, sunshine face and big hair with blond tips like a halo. The defence: Matt, tall and tattooed; Aaron, Andrew's twin brother with the boring hair; Nicky himself; Jean, scowling and sharp-tongued; and Alvarez, small but intimidating. The goalies consist of Renee, rainbow undercut and cross necklace, and Laila, fierce cornrows and a nose ring; but then Andrew grabs a helmet and a yellow vest and tosses his crutch in the grass beside the goal.

“Renee,” Nicky pleads. “Say something.”

“It's his decision, Nicky,” Renee says calmly. “If he thinks he can play today he can play. He's wearing his brace, it will be fine.”

Nicky doesn't look too happy about it but then their missing third striker jogs across the pitch toward them with two balls tucked under his arms and Neil makes a small, winded sound.

Kevin. Striker. “ _Android_ ,” Nicky had called him.

Neil should have known. He shouldn't have come here – there are only so many people in this town and the minute Neil decided to leave the safety of Thea's car it was just a matter of time until he ran into someone from his past, someone who knew him _before_. He should have known better than to think he could have this, that he could just pick up where he left off in high school without repercussions.

Kevin is busy doling out orders and locking horns with Dan over the captaincy but he, too, falters when he sees Neil and squints like he needs glasses.

“Nathaniel?” he asks, his voice crunching like the gravel in front of Neil's childhood home. It strikes something deep inside Neil and he swallows down the reverberations, putting down his duffel with everyone else's bags where Renee is guarding them while Laila takes up post in the other goal.

“Kevin,” Neil says. He hasn't said the name out loud in years.

Kevin stares at him for a while like he's seen a ghost, but then Andrew bangs his crutch against a goalpost and they both jump. Everyone else has taken up position already and Kevin gives Neil a curt nod and jogs off, Neil following after a moment of hesitation.

*

Finally they play.

Andrew is a nightmare in goal despite his handicap and Neil, who hasn't played in forever, finds himself paradoxically relaxing under the challenge of getting the ball past him. Midfield isn't fast enough to keep up with him, Nicky is easily distracted and Aaron tends to get riled up by Seth or Kevin, but Andrew looks almost bored by Neil's increasingly frustrated attempts at scoring a goal. They play seven on seven but since there's only three strikers and Seth is still recovering from a sprain Neil doesn't get as many breaks as the others. He doesn't complain. He plays until his legs are shaking underneath him and his clothes are smeared with grass and mud. Kevin only talks to him to bark commands and to remind him to drink some water from time to time. He sends him off the pitch to rest after an hour, and when Neil tries to protest Nicky takes him by the shoulder and wordlessly leads him off to the side.

Andrew, who hasn't come back to goal since Renee subbed in for him, is sitting on top of the pile of bags by the fence and sucking idly on a Capri Sun, his left leg stretched out in front of him and propped up on a bundled up jacket.

“Hey,” Nicky says to Andrew while Neil rummages around in his duffel for his water bottle. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” Andrew says, sarcasm like too much sugar in the sticky word. It turns mocking when he asks: “Is Neil okay?”

“I'm fine,” Neil pants, chugging water and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. It tastes faintly grassy and some of his water runs down his chin and drips onto his shirt.

“Hey, Neil, some of us are headed down to the Fox and Raven later for drinks, you want to join us?” Nicky chirps up. “We'll meet at the pub when everyone's showered. They do really good burgers and they have these amazing fries – uh, chips?”

Kevin shouts Nicky's name from the pitch and Nicky turns around to yell something back.

“Think about it, okay?” he says to Neil before jogging off again to take his place in front of Renee's goal. Some of the others are draped over the fence a little further away, shouting advice and critique and booing fouls, but Neil stays where he is, too exhausted to get up.

“Kevin knows you,” Andrew says – a statement, not a question.

“We went to school together,” Neil answers anyway. The words are coming easier today – or maybe that's just a side-effect of pushing himself so hard for so long when he hasn't been on a pitch in forever.

“Then that means, by extension, that you knew Kevin's ex,” Andrew deduces.

Neil's mouth twitches painfully to the side.

“Riko,” he confirms. The name tastes like mud on his tongue.

“Riko,” Andrew agrees, showing off his canines in a sloppy grin. “Kevin and Jean's mutual evil ex. Sadly, I've only had the pleasure of meeting him once. Sadly for me, I mean, not for him. I imagine he's rather fond of his teeth.”

Andrew makes a fist with his hand and looks down to inspect the scabs on his knobbly, bruised knuckles. Neil fiddles with the cap on his water bottle.

“Why?” he asks. “Are you dating one of them?”

“Me?” Andrew throws his head back and laughs. He's gripping his Capri Sun so hard that he squeezes a small splash of orange liquid out of the straw. It drips down his hand in over-saturated orange and he leans down to suck noisily at it. “Now that would be fun, wouldn't it? Alas, I am doomed to be single forever. But I don't like people screwing with my things and Kevin's nightmares have woken me up one time too many. What about you, hm? Were you into Kevin when you were at school? Everyone's always into Kevin until he opens his mouth for the first time. Then they usually switch to Jeremy.”

Neil's jaw is in lock-down again and he doesn't manage to get an answer out in time. Andrew crumples up his empty Capri Sun and throws it at him, hitting him between the shoulder blades and making him flinch.

“Are you straight? Boring,” Andrew says. “I had such faith in Nicky. No, wait, I didn't. I don't have faith in anyone, least of all my dear cousin. Though he tends to go for the queer people usually. You're a quiet one, hm? That means you're either very interesting or not at all. Which one is it? Tell me now and spare me the disappointment of finding out later.”

“I can see the family resemblance,” is all that falls out of Neil's uncooperative mouth, meaning the way Andrew talks almost as much as Nicky once he starts. Andrew regards him for a moment then laughs again, though it is the same joyless sound as before.

“Maybe not a disappointment after all,” he says. “Come to the pub with us later, Neil. We'll get you drunk and happy. You look like you need it.”

“And I can't decide if you're already drunk or just faking the happy,” Neil shoots back without thinking. It's unnerving how easy it is to speak around Andrew all of a sudden.

Andrew wipes the pad of his thumb over his mouth, erasing a smile that was never really there in the first place.

“Guess you'll find out tonight.”

He says it like he already knows that Neil is going to come, even though a second ago Neil was still convinced that there was nothing and no one that could drag him to the pub on top of everything else today. Now he thinks maybe he should do it the hard way, like ripping off a Band Aid, and get it all over with in one go so he can go back to his safe, quiet life tomorrow.

“I'm only here to play,” he says, a last effort to convince himself.

“That's what he said,” Andrew murmurs around a smirk that's still half-hidden behind his thumb. It sounds a little dirty and a little bit intrigued.

Neil decides to leave it at that.

*

The sun is starting to slop towards the horizon by the time Kevin calls a stop to their third and final match. Team yellow wins two to one but considering that they've all changed teams at least once in the progress of the afternoon it hardly seems relevant to Neil. Nicky and Allison are loudly insisting that the winning team has to buy a round for the losing team at the pub, which reminds Neil that he still needs to come up with an excuse not to go.

He's about to call Thea to come and pick him up, except when he tries to turn on his phone the screen remains dark. He presses down on the button until his finger hurts but the battery is well and truly dead and he feels suddenly claustrophobic – or maybe the opposite of it – caught out at the edge of an empty pitch with too many people jostling for space among the bags, their voices tossed about by the wind. His face feels hot and his toes cold; his lungs burn and his arms prickle with goosebumps.

“Neil?” someone says gently. “Are you alright?”

He looks up to see Renee perching nearby, close enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice but with enough space between them that Neil doesn't feel crowded. She tilts her head and smiles when he catches her eye.

“I,” he stutters out, “I don't know how to get home.”

He wants to slap himself with how pathetic that sounds. It's not that he doesn't know the way – he could retrace the car ride no problem – but the distance seems unbridgeable without Thea. Public transport is out of the question; even walking feels like too much of a challenge right now and his legs are still shaking from going too hard on the pitch.

“Why don't you come with one of us?” Renee suggests. “Andrew, Matt and Allison have cars, I'm sure one of them could drive you home.”

Neil swallows. He doesn't want to get into someone else's car, sweaty and dirty as he is, but when he tries to recall Thea's number his mind is blank and scorching, like a rooftop that the sun has shone on for too long.

“Do you want me to ask them?” Renee prods, peeling off her battered goalie gloves and tucking them into an outside pocket of her backpack. Neil clenches his hand around his dead phone and nods. He knows he should be able to do that for himself but it's still a relief when Renee gets up and walks over to where Matt is dumping the last dregs of his water bottle over Nicky's head while Allison takes a picture with her pink rhinestone-encrusted phone.

He quickly digs a hoodie out of his duffel and puts it on over his sweat-damp t-shirt before trying to scrub the worst of the grass and dirt off his pants. It doesn't do anything for the smell of course, but at least he won't get sweat stains or mud on someone's upholstery. Laila and Alvarez are chasing each other with a spray can of deodorant and Neil wishes he'd had the foresight to bring some too. He's still cowering by the bags when Renee comes back with a dripping Nicky in tow.

“Renee says you need a ride,” he says, ineffectually wiping his wet face on his equally wet shoulder. “We have space in the car, we just have to drop Aaron off first because he has work tonight. Actually, you could just shower at our place if you want, it's not far and you can catch a ride to the pub with us after. Kevin's doing the same.”

Neil automatically cranes his neck to look at Kevin, who is talking to Dan. He's not smiling, exactly, but he looks more relaxed than Neil remembers him ever being at school. Somehow, somewhere along the way Kevin stopped cowering in Riko's shadow and became his own person; Neil, still stuck in the inexorable quicksand of his father's legacy, envies him for that.

“Great! That's settled then,” Nicky crows. Neil's pretty sure he hasn't given an answer yet but Nicky is already bouncing off again to collect his cousins. Renee gives him an apologetic smile and slips away as well with a small wave goodbye.

Slowly everyone starts to disperse and Neil shoulders his duffel and follows Nicky's group to the gates, leaving a little distance between them. Matt and Dan break off when they pass their car, Allison is heading for a pink convertible with Renee and Jean in tow, and Nicky finally stops in front of a sleek black car and turns to Neil with his arms spread.

“Tadaa!” he sings. “Here we are. Isn't she a beauty? Andrew bought her last year.”

“It's a car,” Neil blurts out before he can stop himself. Andrew laughs and pulls out his keys.

“No shit,” he says before handing them over to Nicky and getting into the back seat. Nicky's face twists sideways for a moment but he takes the keys and climbs into the driver's seat. Aaron piles everyone's bags into the trunk and Kevin goes for the passenger seat, leaving Neil to squeeze onto the back seat between the twins, overly conscious of his body odour and the way he flinches when Nicky pulls out of the parking spot, the sudden burst of speed pressing Neil into Andrew's side.

Kevin is watching him in the rearview mirror and frowning.

It's Nicky who holds up a conversation for most of the ride. Aaron and Kevin join in sometimes, but Neil is silent and Andrew is humming and tapping his fingers on the window, his crutch between his knees, the side of his head leaving a smudge on the glass where he leans against it. The evening light makes the pink in his hair look faintly orange.

After dropping Aaron off, Nicky speeds up once again and pulls up in front of a small unkempt house a few streets down from where Aaron lives. A dog barks on the neighbouring property when they get out of the car and Neil's hands grip the strap of his bag tighter even though it sounds nothing like the tiny yapping sounds of Lola Malcolm's overbred lap dog.

He hesitates just outside the door, hysteria clawing up the back of his throat again. Nicky is already inside, and Andrew shoves past him with his crutch and an amused look that makes shame prickle down Neil's spine. Kevin, though, steps up beside him and waits.

“You got taller,” Neil says, for lack of something else to say, some appropriate point of contact with which to pick up a conversation they left hanging seven years ago.

“You didn't,” Kevin replies bluntly. “Nathaniel...”

“It's Neil now,” Neil says quickly.

“Neil,” Kevin murmurs. “Right. Listen...”

Neil doesn't wait for him to gather his words and instead pushes on into the house. He toes off his shoes in the hallway and finds Nicky in a tiny, cramped kitchen wrangling with a pile of pizza and take-out boxes. A shower starts running somewhere down the hall and Neil folds himself silently into a corner, watching as Nicky fills the sink with soapy water and attempts to reduce the stack of dirty dishes beside it. Kevin comes in after him, wordlessly pulls down a mixer, and sets about making a smoothie.

“There's spinach in the fridge,” Nicky tells him. “Did you bring spare clothes, Neil? Because we can lend you some if you need anything.”

Neil shakes his head then nods. Nicky is still doing the dishes, his back to Neil, and sings along to the radio, swinging his hips.

“What was that, honey?”

“I have clothes,” Neil says, a bit too loud, and shrinks back into his corner. The mixer whirs to life and then Kevin pours the bright green contents into glasses and places one in front of Neil.

“Drink up,” he commands. Neil pulls a face – the vegetable-to-fruit ratio in this smoothie is way off for his taste – but Kevin glares at him until he gulps some of it down.

When Andrew is done in the shower, Nicky ushers Neil into the bathroom next with a threadbare towel and a command to make himself at home. The lock on the door is broken and Neil turns on the rickety shower before he takes off his clothes, just in case one of the others forgets that he's in there.

The bathroom is dingy and badly lit. Mould or grout stains the tiles in the corners and the mirror above the sink is cracked on one side. It's as clean as it can be in this state though, and Nicky and Andrew's things are all neatly lined up on shelves and the edge of the bathtub. There's a third toothbrush that either belongs to Aaron or Kevin, and Neil can't help it – he hasn't been inside someone else's house in so long – he noses about a bit, unearthing squashed packets of hair dye in different colours that must be Andrew's, several small bottles of shampoo with German hotel labels and a tub of fancy scar healing cream that Neil is half tempted to try on himself. He doubts there is much hope for the battleground on his skin though, even if the cream smells nice, and he puts it away again where he found it. He wonders whose it is.

The spray of the shower is sparse yet the bathroom is already steamed up by the time Neil steps under it. He washes off quickly, puts on the spare clothes he finds in his duffel and scrubs at his hair with the musty-smelling towel until it sticks up in all directions. He doesn't have a comb and doesn't want to use anyone else's, so he tries to tame it a bit with his hands, then he makes sure everything is back in its place and all of his scars are properly covered before going back to the kitchen to tell Kevin that he can have his turn now.

Nicky waves him over to the table where he's crouched over a magazine and makes him sit down. Andrew comes in as Nicky is telling Neil about a music festival in town next week and methodically dumps the rest of Kevin's smoothie down the drain. He rinses the mixer, fills it with frozen strawberries and vanilla ice-cream and pours a load of sugar on top that makes Neil's teeth ache just looking at it.

“...And hey, why don't you come to the festival with us, might be nice don't you think? We could get dinner there and go and see Matt's band, Dan and the girls will probably be there, maybe we can convince Aaron and Katelyn too...”

“Nicky,” Andrew says, sitting down backwards in a chair with a giant mug filled to the brim with his strawberry concoction. Nicky shuts up and looks a little guilty, and Andrew sighs and stabs a finger at Neil's face. “Look at him. That is the face of someone too polite to tell you to shut up. Luckily, I have no such qualms, so: shut the fuck up, Nicky.”

Nicky looks imploringly at Neil, who is too embarrassed to confirm or deny either way and tries to change the topic by gesturing at Andrew's mug with the _Number One Dad_ printed on it.

“Whose is that?” he asks in what he hopes is a normal conversational tone.

“Oh,” Nicky says, “Kevin's. We got it for his birthday because... well, he's kind of like our dad. He makes sure we eat something healthy every once in a while and he does that thing where he awkwardly pats your shoulder instead of telling you that you did well, and he's really good at the dance.”

“The... dance?”

“You know. The slightly-drunk-dad-at-a-barbecue dance,” Nicky says, demonstrating a few a jerky movements in his seat.

“Ah,” Neil says. And then, because it kind of just bubbles out of him, foamy and thin with hysteria: “My father... didn't really dance.”

“Neither did mine, I suppose,” Nicky says sadly. He brightens again almost immediately and pulls out his phone. “Here, I have a video of Kevin at our last party, you have to see this...”

“Ice-cream?” Andrew says abruptly, thrusting his mug at Neil. The half-melted mess of puréed strawberries and ice-cream makes a bid for freedom and Andrew straightens it just in time. Neil shakes his head and Andrew shrugs. “Your loss.”

Nicky shows Neil two wobbly, blurry videos of indistinctly moving bodies on his phone, laughing tears at the awkward, robotic movements of someone who is apparently Kevin dancing with a very enthusiastic but no more skilful Jeremy. Andrew finishes his ice-cream by himself, staring out of the grimy window which is lit up in jagged sunset colours like the reflections of a smouldering bonfire. Some of his drying hair drifts in front of his eyes and he blows half-heartedly at it. His hand is tapping out another absent-minded rhythm against his leg.

Neil swallows and looks back at Nicky's phone. He is familiar with the peculiar phenomenon of being briefly fascinated by a beautiful person. It happens sometimes – with Thea, with people in the street, while watching TV or looking through someone's selfie tag on their blog. Nothing ever comes of it and Neil doesn't want it to. He spends enough time on the internet to have narrowed his teenage confusion down to a few potential labels like ace, aro or demi, and by now he feels somewhat comfortable in the twilight zone of this spectrum even if his particular experience doesn't always fit with most other people's. Seeing Kevin again has at least confirmed that he's well and truly over the terribly awkward sort-of crush he had when they were both fourteen. He doesn't think he will ever really _want_ to have sex with anyone, but if the opportunity arose to try it with a nice, willing person, no strings attached – well. Neil is self-aware enough to admit that Andrew is particularly easy on the eyes, which would probably help. Probably.

Kevin and Nicky both take ages in the shower. Neil finally remembers to ask for a charger so he can call Thea, assuring her that he hasn't been kidnapped and that he won't need picking up until later. He texts her the address of the pub and then goes and joins Andrew, who is watching _Adventure Time_ with his injured foot propped up on a cushion on the coffee table and his head tipped back against the sofa, eyes half closed.

“What happened to your leg?” Neil asks quietly and has to repeat himself when Andrew lifts his head and grunts questioningly.

“Oh,” Andrew says, making odd shapes in the air with his hand. “A car. Specifically, my mother's car, with her in it. She went and got herself killed, and all I got was this shitty crutch.”

He starts laughing, humourless and dry as bones, and slumps back against the sofa with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Neil mumbles, clenching his hands in the fabric of his hoodie. He's not going to think about his mother – he's _not_ –

“Don't be,” Andrew says harshly. “She sucked. Aaron was always more fond of her than me, and he isn't very good at being fond to begin with. She was high when we got in that car. It was her own damn fault.”

“When was that?” Neil asks.

“I was sixteen,” Andrew shrugs.

“Oh,” Neil says, his throat tight. “But that was -”

“Ten years ago,” Andrew confirms with a hard grin sticking to his teeth like candy. “Caught on, have you? It's not going to get better.”

He gestures at his leg like it isn't a part of him, like it's just another rundown piece of furniture in the house. The cushion it lies on is split open at the sides, cheap stuffing spilling out. Neil thinks of the patches of skin under his shirt that are almost numb to touch and barely registers that his fingers are fretfully tracing them through the fabric of his hoodie.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, and Andrew rolls his eyes and huffs before turning back to the television and cranking up the volume.

The conversation, it seems, is over.

*

The Raven and Fox is packed.

Or maybe it isn't – maybe this is normal – Neil wouldn't know, he's never been to a pub before. The sheer amount of people crammed into the warm, humid space is stifling. The interior smells like malt and frying fat, the single open window not enough to recycle the stale air. Neil can feel sweat pricking at the back of his neck almost instantly. He follows Kevin in a daze, making use of the taller man's slipstream to navigate the crowd, and slides into the corner seat at the large table reserved for their group, just underneath a faded, stained rainbow flag on the wall. Kevin and Andrew take the seats next to him despite Nicky's protest and someone asks him what he wants to drink. Neil thinks he says tea because several people laugh, but he's not in the mood to deal with anything alcoholic tonight and his stomach is too cramped up for something cold and fizzy.

“Neil's family is British,” Nicky explains with a conspiratorial grin. “He doesn't have the accent, but I guess the tea thing is in the genes.”

“There's no such thing as _the_ British accent,” Neil says, peeved. He can do a passable middle-class southern accent when he talks to Stuart, though he trained himself out of it in school after getting mocked his entire first year. His mother had by that point completely assimilated her own – she was always good at blending in. Sometimes she did different accents for him when he couldn't sleep; the posh ones always made him laugh, but his favourite was Mary's original slow, sprawling Fens accent. It's a pity she and Stuart both got rid of it before Neil was born, but then that has always been a Hatford thing: ruthlessly excising the less useful parts of one's heritage, whittling down the self until what's left can crawl easily through the air vents of society, no matter how tight.

“I'll get that for you,” Renee offers. “Anything to eat, Neil?”

Neil shakes his head but Kevin says, “He wants a sandwich, avocado on rye, no mayo,” and Renee smiles and nods.

“Andrew?”

Her hand trails over his shoulder in passing and Andrew gets up to follow her to the bar, leaving his crutch behind. He limps without it, though not as badly as when he came off the pitch earlier today.

“I'm not hungry,” Neil tells Kevin and earns a scoff in response.

“Of course you are. You didn't have anything all afternoon. As an athlete you need to keep up your strength.”

“Oh, goodie, Kevin has found someone else to lecture about the optimal carbs-to-protein ratio,” Allison says as she plops down in the seat vacated by Renee. “How're you holding up, newbie?”

“Fine,” Neil says.

“Nicky hit on you yet?”

“No,” Neil says slowly, although now that she says it he wonders if this is the reason why Nicky has been so adamant on dragging him along. He looks to Nicky, who holds up his hands in defence.

“Woah, woah, calm down, pretty boy,” Nicky laughs. “Those eyes are _intense_. I'm not hitting on you. Well, not more than I do with every cute guy. I'll have you know I'm happily married, long distance or not.”

“Hasn't stopped him before,” Allison says. Her long earrings make a soft jingling sound as she moves her head. “If he gets too creepy, you come straight to me okay?”

“I can look after myself,” Neil says flatly and winces a bit at the abrasiveness in his tone. Allison doesn't seem to take offence though, and then Renee is back with Neil's tea and slips onto Allison's lap, earning herself a kiss on the cheek that leaves a smudged pink lipgloss heart on her skin.

Andrew doesn't return until Neil has already finished his tea and half of his sandwich. He kicks Nicky out of his chair next to Neil's and steals Kevin's drink, eyeing the rest of Neil's sandwich and the fries that came with it.

“You going to eat that?” he grunts. Neil pushes his plate at him with a shake of his head. Andrew smells weird – like public bathroom soap and something weirdly specific that Neil can't place. It reminds him of the hedges on his walk to school, the way they smelled when they were blooming in spring.

“Where were you?” Nicky demands, tongue tipsy and mouth wide around the words. He leans over and nearly knocks the plate of fries off the table with his elbow.

Andrew shrugs. “Roland's working.”

“Oh, nasty,” Nicky laughs delightedly, “I hope you washed your hands. Give me that, you're not supposed to drink.”

He downs what's left of Kevin's vodka-and-lemon and grabs a handful of fries before retreating back to his place and pulling out a packet of playing cards.

“Neil, want to join in? I'm teaching Dan and Matt how to play _Doppelkopf_.”

Neil doesn't know what that is and shakes his head. He watches as they set up the game at one end of the table, worrying at his sleeves, then pulls out his phone and turns it over and over in his hands. Thea promised to text him when she's outside but there is still no new notification when he turns on the screen to check.

“Who's Roland?” he asks Andrew, casting around for something to talk about. Allison and Renee have found an ancient jukebox and Kevin is up at the bar getting more drinks. From down the table comes the slap of cards and the occasional muttered curse. Despite the fact that they have more space now, Andrew is still pressed up against Neil's side.

“Bartender,” Andrew says idly, gesturing over his shoulder. “We have an arrangement. The kind of arrangement where we fuck sometimes.”

He bares his teeth in a sloppy approximation of a grin and Neil doesn't know how to react. It's not that the fact of Andrew hooking up with someone upsets him – he knows people do that – but he isn't sure why Andrew just shared that with him after knowing him for only a day. He clears his throat and takes his phone out again even though he just checked it, his sweaty thumb slipping on the buttons.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I need to call someone.”

He trips out of his seat and towards the doorway around the bar that leads to the bathrooms. Andrew's laughter follows him all the way there. He calls Thea on speed-dial, pressing the phone to his ear and breathing a sigh of relief when she picks up.

“Hey, pumpkin. I'm on my way.”

“How long?” Neil asks.

“Ten more minutes I suppose. Can you do that?” Her voice is smoke-rough and steady above the noise of the car, a calming weight settling somewhere inside Neil's skull.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can do that. How was your date?”

Thea hums. “It was okay. Not sure yet. She wasn't a creep, though.”

“Good,” Neil murmurs. “See you soon.”

“See you, pumpkin.”

She hangs up and Neil sags against the wall for a moment. He feels tired and exhausted, but at least it's almost over now. He just has to figure out how to pay for his tea and food and say goodbye to the others.

His throat clicks as he swallows, and he pushes off from the wall to go and wash his clammy hands.

 


	3. Chapter Two: Say You'll Be There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neil gets his new cat, goes to a music festival, and tries out kissing at Nicky's birthday party, with mixed success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all the lovely comments - it means a lot to me to hear that some of you can relate to Neil's anxiety, I am sending you all virtual hugs and calming thoughts <3
> 
> And also a big thank you to Janie for indulging my needy anxious self and reading this over AGAIN to soothe my worries, she is honestly the best.
> 
> Chapter playlist:  
> [Stromae – Tous Les Mêmes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAMWdvo71ls)  
> [Nelly Furtado – Turn Off The Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOL7aeIDruA)  
> [The Eagles – Hotel California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT59rohv6jw)  
> [Spice Girls – Say You'll Be There](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ro0FW9Qt-4)  
> [Backstreet Boys – Everybody (Backstreet's Back)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6M6samPEMpM)  
> [Wheatus – Teenage Dirtbag](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FC3y9llDXuM)  
> [Blur – Song 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSbBvKaM6sk)
> 
> Mention of self harm scars in this chapter.

Neil spends the next day entirely in bed.

He crawls out of his room in the early afternoon to fix himself some lunch, and because his pyjamas are starting to feel gross and a hot bath is looking more and more appealing to his sore muscles. Then he climbs back into bed with his laptop, a cup of tea and two of the cats – Loaf and Kiwi – and falls asleep watching _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_.

On Tuesday he turns on his phone to call Thea so they can go to the shelter and pick out a new cat. Before he can pull up her contact several messages pop up in quick succession from the number Nicky insisted on exchanging with him at the pub. Neil takes a deep breath and wades through the thicket of emojis and abbreviations until Nicky finally gets to the point and tells him when and where to meet them for the music festival that Neil never agreed to go to.

It's a mystery to Neil – how someone with so many friends can be so keen on making yet another one, and why on earth he still thinks Neil is an appropriate target for this excess of friendliness. Maybe Nicky had a lonely childhood and he's compensating, or maybe this is normal behaviour and Neil's the one who's weird.

Considering he's spent the last seven years in a protective bubble of cat hair and tinted car windows, Neil knows which option is more likely.

He types and re-types his answer, accidentally hits send in the middle of deleting a message so all his reply says is a curt _maybe_ and gives up. He's about to call Thea when Nicky's answer comes through lightning-fast – _pls pls pls come neil we need u!!!!_ \- and Neil has to toss his phone down for a while and pace until his hands stop prickling with anxious pins and needles.

It starts raining when Thea picks him up. She has her hair pinned up high under her black hijab and her eyes are rimmed in warm gold. Neil will never get over how beautiful she is. The car smells like cigarettes even though Stuart – a smoker himself – doesn't want anyone smoking inside it, and Neil clicks his seatbelt in and feels a little bit special at being witness to this small, secret act of rebellion.

“Hey pumpkin,” Thea grins. “You ready to make a big decision?”

“I want a black one,” Neil informs her as they pull out of the driveway. “They have the lowest adoption rates because people are superstitious.”

“Not you, though,” Thea says, popping the glove compartment to pull out some chewing gum. She rolls down the windows a bit and the air rushing inside smells wet and sweet and earthy. “Have you decided on a name yet?”

“No,” Neil says, “I'll know when I see it.”

Thea turns on the radio for the rest of the drive and fetches a large black umbrella from the back of the car when they arrive at the shelter. It's pouring down heavily and the bottoms of Neil's jeans get soaked despite the umbrella. Inside the shelter the air is warm and humid, dogs are barking and the light fixture above the front desk buzzes loudly and persistently. Neil wraps his arms around himself and lets Thea do the talking – she doesn't much like cats, but she's the one who picked giant ginger Jaffa for him because Neil was having a panic attack in the car and Jaffa reminded her of her old dog. Stuart's the one who first got Kiwi and Loaf – inseparable like twins – so Neil would have company when he's away at work, but Neil's been inside the shelter once before when he took Prickle home.

Back then he'd asked the woman showing him into the room for their most difficult case. Today he wants to take a little more time to make sure his newest ward will get along with the others.

They walk along the cages and Neil says hello to some of the cats that feel like checking him out. In one of the last cages he spots a black cat with a mashed-in face and a filmy eye, though she waddles over to him right away when he lies down on the floor in front of the cage and sticks a finger through the grid. Her wet nose presses against his knuckle and she drools a bit, a breathy purr dripping out of her open mouth. He ignores the shelter lady who is trying to get him to stand up and rubs his finger under the cat's knobbly chin.

Her name is Scar, but Neil already knows what he's going to change that to.

“I'll take her,” he says quietly.

“If you're sure,” the woman says, sceptical, and Neil follows her back to the front desk to get the paperwork sorted – the Hatfords are thankfully already on file after their previous adoptions, so there's no inspection of the premises to get through anymore, and Neil can bundle his new cat into the transport basket he brought and take her home right away.

“Well, she's very black,” Thea says in the car. “Are you going to stick with Scar?”

“No,” Neil says, cradling the basket on his lap. The cat is quiet despite the noise and movement of the car and peers up at Neil's face through the grating, her uneven eyes blinking at him like he's the one who needs reassuring right now.

“She's going to be Shimmy,” he decides. “She deserves to be more than her scars.”

Thea's face is heavy with sympathy for a moment and Neil has to look away. She didn't know Neil back when Neil still lived with his parents but she's the one Stuart sent to pick Neil up from the police station, his shirt still warm with his mother's blood. She knows enough of the story.

Shimmy sneaks a playful paw out through the grate and gets her claws tangled in Neil's sleeve. He removes them gently and she sneezes before curling up against the side of the basket, drooling happily onto her tail.

They're going to be fine.

*

The next time Neil looks at his phone he has seven new messages from Nicky and two from an unknown number that turns out to be Kevin's. Nicky's still going on about the festival, his words repetitive and sprawling, a stark contrast to Kevin's clipped message informing him that he got Neil's number from Nicky. The second one is just a full academic citation for an article in a sports journal, and Neil snorts and turns his phone off again before going downstairs to use the treadmill with Shimmy nosing about curiously.

That night he looks up the music festival online.

There's a map indicating the locations of the different stages, with a programme and a list of vendors, and Neil prints out both in Stuart's office. Matt's band has a slot on Friday afternoon on one of the smaller stages by the river, further out from the epicentre of the festival and therefore potentially less crowded. Neil sits on his bed with the map in his lap, chewing on the pad of his thumb and absent-mindedly stroking Shimmy's back as she squirms in lazy pursuit of a thread trailing from his sleeve. His phone is lying next to him and it chimes occasionally with a message from one of Nicky's friends – Nicky has been very liberal in giving out his number it seems. Neil has yet to reply to any of them.

“What do you think?” he asks Shimmy. She's chewing happily on his sleeve, claws hooked into Neil's arm to keep him in place.

His phone starts playing a Stromae song and it takes Neil a moment to understand that it's ringing. The only one who ever calls him is Thea, and usually he's the one to call her first.

His stomach hardens like concrete. Answering phones is not a thing Neil is comfortable with even on a good day, and just the thought of picking up and talking to someone makes his skin break out in a cold sweat today. The song goes on and he can't even reach out and end the call; instead he pushes his hands down over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for it to end.

When it finally does he checks the number – Kevin's – and then turns his phone off and lets it slide off his bed, Shimmy chasing after it with her tail in the air.

*

By Friday morning the rain has stopped. The morning is hazy, the sort of chill in the air that already holds a promise of melting off in the sun later, and Neil wakes up early to the view of the tree outside his window rippling contentedly in the breeze. His sheets smell fresh and cottony, Jaffa is a warm, heavy weight somewhere by his left foot and through the open door Neil can hear the last faint notes of Ravel's “Bolero” playing in the kitchen as Stuart makes breakfast.

“I think I'll go,” Neil says to the empty room just to hear the words out loud, like a promise to himself. Just for Matt's performance. Then he'll call Thea – he'll make sure his phone is charged this time – and maybe they can stop at Taco Bell on the way home and pick up dinner. He still has two episodes of _Eyewitness_ left to watch, and he needs to spend some time on Duolingo to brush up on his Spanish grammar. He'll still have the entirety of Saturday to recharge as well, and he can always skip out on soccer this week if the festival is too exhausting.

Thea comes to pick him up after lunch. It's warm enough for a t-shirt by now but Neil doesn't feel comfortable with his arms on display today even if the worst of the scarring is on his upper body, so he goes for a light long-sleeved shirt and his favourite pair of jeans and grabs his iPod on the way out in case of sensory overload.

“Two outings in one week!” Thea laughs when he clips on his seatbelt. “I'm proud of you, pumpkin.”

“You got another date?” Neil asks, checking his festival map again just to make sure he's got it all memorised.

“As a matter of fact I do,” Thea says. Traffic is slow and gets worse the closer they come to the festival. Neil already knows that he's going to have to walk part of the way; the streets around the area have been closed since this morning. “A nice young man from a respectable Muslim family, hand-picked by my mother.”

“A disaster in the making then,” Neil grins. Thea punches his arm and slows the car, a little further out than Neil had hoped, but there's no getting through and at least they're close to the river so Neil can take the footpath down there and doesn't have to deal with the bigger roads.

“It's worth a try. Hey,” Thea says as he opens his door. “Have fun, okay? I'm on call until late so if you want to stay, stay.”

“Thanks,” Neil says a little breathlessly and pushes the door shut with a small wave. He watches as she pulls back into the slow ooze of traffic and takes a deep breath. The air smells like barbecue and popcorn already, and the rich, mournful opening notes of a Balkan singer are drifting over from the riverside, mixed with rough hip hop carried on the wind from somewhere else.

Neil walks quickly, with his hood up and his head down and his hand curled around the crumpled map in his pocket. The sunlight is strong enough to make him sweat but the patches of shade in between are still chilly, chasing goosebumps up and down his arms. He passes food vendors, people jostling for hot dogs and kebabs, children shrieking with cotton candy in their mouths and sauce dripping down their chins, silk scarves of all colours and patterns shimmying this way and that in the breeze. One stall has jewellery on display, winking in the sun, and Neil contemplates buying a necklace for Thea but can't bring himself to get the vendor's attention and moves on.

Matt and his band are just setting up on stage when he arrives. Sunlight glints off the river in jagged shapes, making his eyes ache, and he doesn't see any of the others until someone comes barrelling out of the crowd shouting his name and throws an arm around his shoulders. Neil flinches back from the embrace before he can stop himself, and Nicky drops his arm but doesn't quite move out of his personal space.

“You came! You came! I don't believe it!” Nicky screeches, jumping up and down and enveloping Neil in a cloud of glitter. He's wearing very short shorts and a purple band t-shirt in support of Matt's gig, about a dozen rainbow-coloured armbands and battered pink Converse that have been written and drawn on in faded marker. Neil feels a little underdressed next to him – or maybe overdressed, since he's covered in fabric from head to toe – but Nicky kindly tells him that his shirt goes well with his eyes and drags him over to where their group is camping out on picnic blankets near the stage.

“Guys, guys! Neil's heeeere!”

Neil gives an awkward little wave and sinks down on the edge of a blanket. His gaze goes to Andrew first, who is napping in a nest of jackets off to one side, the beginnings of a sunburn creeping up his nose. Nicky sprawls across Aaron, accidentally hitting him in the chest with his elbow, and gets unceremoniously shoved off, though Aaron endures it when Nicky crawls back a second time and listens to his chatter with a half-fond look on his face. Next to them a woman who must be Katelyn is having her pregnant belly painted by Marissa and Renee while Allison braids coloured ribbons into her curls; Dan is over by the stage joking with Matt's band mates, and after a while Neil spots Kevin walking over to them with a drink in hand and wearing a ridiculous floppy hat to keep the sun out of his face. For a moment Neil feels like he's gone back in time to after-school soccer practices, with Coach Kayleigh Day distributing juice pouches to the entire team during halftime and Neil's mother sitting in the shade fanning herself with magazines.

“Yo,” Kevin says stiffly as he folds his long legs down next to Neil on the blanket.

“'Yo'?” Neil mocks, raising an eyebrow, and Kevin's ears flush bright red the way they used to when he was getting worked up about their team not playing up to par. Neil leans over and sniffs Kevin's drink. “Is that vodka?”

“Some of it,” Kevin says. “Okay, most of it.”

He stabs his straw around in the plastic cup and the ice cubes titter and swim. There's a droopy lemon wedge stuck on the rim and Neil steals it, sucking on the juice. It tastes faintly boozy.

“It's fine, you know,” Kevin coughs and clears his throat. “I don't do that thing anymore.”

“What,” Neil says, fitting the lemon rind to his mouth like a smile and popping it out. “The thing where you get blackout drunk and I have to carry you home without either of our moms seeing while you sing Nelly Furtado songs at the top of your voice and wake up the entire neighbourhood?”

Kevin's mouth twists wryly sideways. “Yes. That thing.”

“Good,” Neil says. “I hate Nelly Furtado.”

The group seems to be well-acquainted with Matt's band. Half of them sing along with every line and the other half are either dozing or getting drinks and food. Neil finds himself on the receiving end of several donations – a cup of lemonade from Allison who claims it's too sour, a handful of spring rolls from a batch that makes the rounds, the shawarma Nicky got bored of, and a paper bag of chocolate popcorn that Katelyn had a craving for and then ended up not liking after all. Neil isn't very keen on the popcorn but Katelyn won't take no for an answer, so he picks at it until Andrew jerks awake in his jacket nest and sleepily crawls over to sit next to him.

He wordlessly holds out a hand and Neil gives him the popcorn, unsure what he wants. Andrew seems to be satisfied with that and proceeds to methodically eat his way through the entire bag in silence.

“Andrew,” Kevin says, frowning at his phone. “When's your next appointment with Abby? There's nothing in my calendar and I need to make sure I can swap shifts if necessary –”

Andrew grabs the phone out of his hand and enters something with his thumb before throwing it back into Kevin's lap. Neil marvels at the difference between Andrew's chattier moments and this stubborn silence, and watches him lick the chocolate from his fingers before picking out another piece of popcorn from the bag.

“Who's taking you to Dobson's on Monday?” Kevin asks, still fiddling with his phone. Andrew points at Nicky who is listing sideways against Allison and sloppily toasting Katelyn with his cup of beer and Sprite – “Like a German Radler! Shut up Aaron, it's not disgusting, try it, I dare you,” – because she just told a dirty joke that made Aaron laugh so hard he spilled his drink on his shirt.

“Fine,” Kevin sighs and heaves himself to his feet. He's had enough vodka that the momentum makes him sway a little. “You two can sit here and be silent at each other. I'm gonna go find Jeremy.”

He stumbles off into the crowd with his phone at his ear, craning his neck in all directions, and Neil stretches his legs out in the newly available space. Sweat tiptoes down his back like a cautious spider. He wipes his arm over his forehead once again and finally gives in and folds back his sleeves a little.

“Why don't you take your shirt off?”

Startled, Neil looks around to where Andrew is lying on the grass with his arms behind his head and his bare feet propped up on a messenger bag. Someone's adorned his left instep with a smudged rainbow flag. Neil doesn't know why he's talking to him now and he's not sure _he_ wants to talk – especially not about his scars – so he just shrugs and rolls up the legs of his jeans as well, stopping just underneath the misshapen, hairless patch of an old burn scar on his calf.

“This is fine. I didn't bring anything else.”

Andrew snorts and waves a hand at the stage where Matt and the drummer are both shirtless by now. Neil shrugs again, then he lies down beside Andrew on the grass and cups a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Andrew's watching him with half-closed eyes. He moves one hand from under his head and touches Neil's hair. There's a ladybug on his finger when he withdraws. As he holds it up in front of his face to inspect it, Neil sees the faint white lines of old scars on his bare arm. They aren't nearly as noticeable as the beautiful watercolour tattoo of a switchblade that extends from the inside of his elbow down his arm, the blade done in scintillating rainbow colours, but now that he's seen the scars Neil can't look away.

“Want one?” Andrew drawls, amused at his interest. “Renee's a tattoo artist. She'll give you a discount.”

Neil thinks of needles and raw skin and recoils. The ladybug flies off and the band finishes their last song to applause and catcalls from Dan and Allison. The weight of the mid-afternoon sun presses down on Neil, making him drowsy; the sky is dirty blue and scorching, small white clouds frothing at the seams.

He doesn't ask about Andrew's scars, but he pushes his own sleeves up a little higher and tugs his shoes off to feel the breeze between his toes. When Marissa asks if she can draw a smiley face on his ankle Neil says yes. It only tickles a little bit.

*

Once Matt's been fed some pad thai by Dan and forced to settle a dispute between Nicky and Aaron about which type of flavoured beer is more disgusting – grapefruit or watermelon – they start gathering up their things and move further down the river so they can listen in on a few other bands. Neil joins the girls in a queue by the toilets and gets a daisy crown in his hair from Renee because it takes so long until it's their turn. Neil holds his breath to keep out the smell of the toilets and then waits outside for Katelyn with the others – pregnancy pees are serious business, according to Dan – before they set off to catch up to the boys by the next stage.

Neil's phone is in his pocket, the case warm from his body heat and slick when he clutches it in his sweaty palm, but he doesn't call Thea yet. Nicky drags Aaron and the girls off to dance, leaving Andrew, Katelyn and Neil to guard their stuff. Kevin reappears after a couple of hours, his hair ruffled and his face filmy white with sunscreen, glaring at anyone who dares to laugh. He forces a bottle of water on Neil but fails to make Andrew eat anything other than sweet things and finally stomps off in a huff.

“He's got some hardcore maternal instincts,” Katelyn comments, amused, and Neil wonders where they came from before remembering that Kayleigh Day is actually Kevin's mother – to him, she was always just Coach.

They sit in the shade this time, with Andrew's head in Katelyn's lap as he pokes and prods her belly and mutters swearwords at it to see if the baby moves in reaction to any of them. Some of them are pretty creative – even to Neil, who has spent the last seven years living with Stuart's particular brand of homemade swearing in three different languages.

“My kids aren't even born yet and you're already a bad influence,” Katelyn says, teasing at the pink strands of Andrew's hair.

“Don't know what you expected,” Andrew grumbles, and smears his middle finger through the swirls of paint on Katelyn's belly. Katelyn just smiles and shakes her head, her curls tumbling about, legs crossed under her long skirt and the ends of her sleeveless blouse tied snugly above her belly. Neil has another one of his beautiful people moments and looks back over to where Matt is spinning Dan around in the glistening surf of late afternoon sunlight, then to where Allison is effortlessly keeping her balance on a slackline between two trees. It doesn't help.

Something bobs and swells in his chest like a helium balloon slipping from a child's hand. He swallows heavily and stares down at his sticky and heat-swollen hands. These people don't need him here; they are already living full lives, the kind that make coherent Instagram accounts with all the right filters. He feels like an unnecessary extra brushstroke on a finished picture. Even Kevin belongs here – gangly, abrasive, obsessive Kevin, who spent his teenage years playing lapdog to a Machiavellian boyfriend and sleeping with a nightlight in the shape of a soccer ball; begging Neil to come next door because he'd received yet another cryptic text message from Riko that needed to be analysed and decoded until the wee hours of the morning. Neil watches as Kevin takes a turn on the slackline and nearly falls into the river, picks himself up and dusts himself off and gets on again just to land on his face once more, right when Allison takes a picture. It's disorienting. For a moment Neil sees a tipsy, swaying Kevin on the slackline superimposed on a needy teenager tracing the number two on his cheek over and over again. He sees himself, twice: Nathaniel with Mary, Neil without.

His throat burns as he pulls out his phone to call Thea.

*

Neil doesn't go to soccer practice on Sunday and receives a baffling total of nineteen texts inquiring after his absence. On top of Nicky's increasingly desperate nine texts, there are three from Kevin, vaguely pissed off although that's how Kevin always sounds; two from Matt thanking him for coming on Friday and hoping he's well; one from Renee to say that Andrew talked to her about Neil being potentially interested in a tattoo; and two each from Dan and Allison asking if he's still coming to the pub later. Allison sends pictures as well – one of Kevin, taken in another ungraceful moment, and one of Nicky pouting and making puppy-dog eyes at the camera.

Neil doesn't even know where to begin replying to them so he turns off his phone and goes to bed.

It takes him the entire following week to work up the courage to go back to the park. When he finally calls Thea on Sunday morning, she picks him up early with a plastic bag full of food from her mother and a thermos of piping hot tea. Neil sleepily unwraps a giant slab of homemade spinach pide, still warm in its foil wrapping, and tears off a piece.

“I have this afternoon off,” Thea tells him after driving aimlessly for a while with the radio on, passing the thermos back to Neil without drinking. Belatedly, he remembers that it must be Ramadan by now and that Thea must be fasting. “Can you catch a ride with one of your friends?”

“They're not my friends,” Neil protests, a thin webbing of doubt in his stomach. He takes a gulp of tea to wash it away; they can't be his friends. They already have each other, and Neil has Thea and Stuart and his cats. That's enough.

“Well, can you catch a ride with your not-friends?” Thea huffs.

“I think so,” Neil mutters, leaning his forehead against the window and letting the scenery drift by. “You have another date? How'd it go with Mr. Hand-picked?”

“Nah, family time today,” Thea says, then smiles wryly. “Disastrously, like you so aptly predicted.”

“Told you,” Neil grins. “So back to Tinder then?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Unless one of my aunts manages to bring another nice young man to dinner who isn't already secretly married to a man that his family thinks is his best friend.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Thea sighs. “He was very sweet, at least. Hey, let's talk about your love life for once, mine's getting depressing. Meet any hot blond bombshells yet that you might be interested in dating?”

Neil thinks of all the blonds in Nicky's friend group – Andrew, Aaron, Allison – and chokes on his last piece of pide.

“There's a reason we don't talk about my love life,” he wheezes, glaring at Thea.

“Flirting with strangers on the internet is not non-existent,” Thea protests. “Neither is making me stop for juice pouches that I've never seen you drink before.”

Neil looks down at the bag in the foothold and grabs a Capri Sun that was making a bid for freedom. When he comes back up his face is itchily hot.

“Just trying to be...” He waves a hand around, searching for the right word, and finishes with a weak, “...friendly.”

“Oh, so _now_ you're trying to be friendly,” Thea teases. “A minute ago you assured me they weren't your friends.”

“They're not,” Neil mutters sullenly, and ignores any further prodding from Thea. She still understands the unspoken _but I'd like them to be._

*

Sunday soccer practice becomes a standing appointment in Neil's week.

No one is more surprised by this than he is. The third time he tells Stuart that he's going back to the park to meet Nicky and the others Stuart hugs him, which is also a bit of a surprise since Stuart isn't usually big on physical contact, but thankfully it only lasts a few seconds before they both step back awkwardly. Neil still gets several text messages a week from the others even though he never replies, the occasional monosyllable notwithstanding. Nicky still makes a big deal out of him coming every time, and apart from Seth no one has told him to fuck off yet, which is as reassuring as it is unsettling since Neil can't tell if they're just being nice and tolerating him for Nicky's sake or if they actually want him there.

Neil finds excuses not to join them at the pub after practice, but Nicky is persistent in inviting him out to all kinds of other activities. On a Wednesday night Neil finds himself back at the café where Nicky works, after Nicky has just closed up and there's a group of people draped around the tables in various states of post- or pre-work stupor. Aaron is just back from a shift at the hospital and Andrew is taking a break from cleaning up behind the counter. Dan is rubbing her feet after a long day at the gym where she works as an instructor and Matt is cheerfully recounting today's adventures as a kindergarten teacher. On the other end of the table Kevin is slumped over an unfinished history assignment on his laptop while Allison, Renee and Katelyn are in the back, discussing secret plans for Nicky's upcoming birthday party. Neil is cradling an iced tea on the outskirts of the group and trying not to feel like a waste of space amidst all these busy, hard-working people.

“Neil, you're coming to my party, right?” Nicky asks and leans over the table to poke his finger in Neil's space. “No presents needed, just your esteemed presence. Get it? Presents, presence... Okay? It's gonna be fun.”

“Yeah,” Neil croaks, sliding his fingertips through the condensation on his glass. “Sure.”

Nicky looks satisfied and leans back in his chair. It's a trick Neil learned in school when people wanted him to socialise outside of soccer – tell them you're planning on coming, then cancel last minute or simply fail to show up if there was a chance no one would notice him missing anyway. Unfortunately for him, Kevin, with his controlling and hyper-jealous ex-boyfriend, remembers this strategy all too well and squints at Neil from where he's unstuck his face from his laptop at last. Neil doesn't meet his eyes and drains the rest of his melted iced tea.

“I can ask Jeremy to stop by your house and pick you up,” Kevin says. “He's already driving Jean and me but there's space for a fourth.”

“Oh. Right,” Neil says, unwilling to commit any further, but Kevin is already pulling out his phone. The playlist Nicky has on changes to something upbeat from the 90s and Aaron and Dan start squabbling over whether the Spice Girls or the Backstreet Boys were more formative for their childhoods.

“Excuse you, Brian is obviously the superior Backstreet Boy,” Nicky interrupts that conversation. He holds up a hand to count on his fingers: “He has that whole church choirboy appeal, his favourite food is mac and cheese, his father is a minister, _and_ he has a very clear jawbone structure. He's like all my sins and anxieties wrapped up in one package of square jawed fine boned blue-eyed wonder boy.”

“That is more information than I ever wanted to have about any Backstreet Boy,” Neil mutters.

“Oh please, Kevin was clearly the best,” Kevin objects, looking offended on behalf of his namesake.

“Yeah no,” Nicky scoffs. “Sorry Kev, straight boys aren't allowed an opinion here. You can tell me all you like about how you just like the gravity of his voice and the seriousness of his face and how tall and big-eyebrowed he is but the fact of the matter is that you're just not qualified. I don't make the rules.”

Kevin opens his mouth to contest this when Allison appears behind Dan and cuts him off.

“Shut it, Sporty Spice,” she says cheerily. “We all remember you trying to grow that goatee. I, for one, am still traumatised. Anyone hungry? Your girl Kate wants tacos.”

Katelyn, currently swaying to “Hotel California” by the counter with Renee, throws up a peace sign mid-groove. Andrew is still napping on Aaron's shoulder and looks vaguely sour when Aaron shakes him awake, but he grabs his rag without protest and goes to finish cleaning up with Renee's help. Dan, Matt and Nicky debate the best place for tacos and Neil fiddles with his phone under the table, about to turn it on and text Thea when Kevin reaches over and taps two fingers against the screen.

“Come with us?”

Neil looks away with a grimace. Kevin knows too well what his avoidance tactics look like.

“It's fine,” he says automatically. “My uncle always makes enough food for two.”

“Neil,” Kevin sighs, and then, more quietly: “Abram.”

The old name lights the dusty wick of an old candle somewhere inside Neil's chest. He almost regrets that Kevin still knows it because it used to be a secret thing between Neil and his mother, something whispered in the dead of night to soothe away tears and pain. Kevin knows it because Kevin knows Neil better than anyone – or used to, once upon a time. The reminder tastes sour on Neil's tongue and he swallows it down.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, and then: “Fine.”

Kevin smiles the sort of slow, self-satisfied smile he gets after a good hard practice or at three in the morning with the alcohol in his system just starting to fade into sleepy contentment. The smile, too, breathes life into that long-forgotten candle inside Neil, and he lets himself fall into step beside Kevin as they leave the café and walk in scattered formation to the nearest taco place that Nicky swears is the best.

He checks that Nicky is out of hearing range before he asks, “Why does Nicky think you're straight?”

Kevin coughs lightly.

“I had a girlfriend for a while. He just... assumed. I haven't really managed to correct him yet.”

“But Andrew knew about Riko,” Neil says, recalling his first conversation with Andrew by the pitch.

“Andrew is a different story,” Kevin sighs. “We met at a club. Riko was trying to patch things up with me after Jean, and I–” He grimaces when Neil hisses his disapproval. “I know, look, I wasn't in a very good place at the time. I thought I'd at least get some closure and met up with him. Things got ugly of course, and Andrew intervened on my behalf.”

“Sorry,” Neil says dully, guilt squirming unpleasantly in his guts. It used to be that he was the one protecting Kevin from Riko's outbursts.

“Don't,” Kevin snaps. “You were in the middle of a trial. I needed to learn to look after myself.”

“Oh? Just now it sounded like _Andrew_ was the one looking after you,” Neil points out, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. Kevin brushes this off with an impatient hand.

“He's a good friend, that's all.”

“Hurry up, you two! We're starving!” Nicky calls down the street, jumping up and down outside the taco place to keep warm. It's a chilly night, breath hanging in cottony clouds between them, and Neil pulls his jacket tighter around himself and tries not to feel left behind at the thought of Kevin moving on and having friends, a girlfriend, _Andrew_ ; building himself a life after Riko while Neil was hiding in his room and pretending Nathaniel Wesninski didn't exist.

*

Jeremy's car is blasting music at full volume. Neil closes the front door behind him, pats his pockets one more time to make sure he has his phone and his wallet and his keys, then tucks his chin behind the collar of his jacket and walks over to where Kevin is leaning on the open back door of the car.

“Nicky will be disappointed you didn't dress up,” Kevin greets him. He himself is wearing a dorky paisley print button-down over black skinny jeans, and he probably spent at least half an hour fussing with his hair before he left the house. That much hasn't changed from when they were fourteen, at least.

“I thought it wasn't a big party,” Neil says sceptically. He didn't dress up – the only thing he owns that qualifies as dressing up is the suit he wore to his father's trial and his mother's funeral – but he did go for his nicest jeans and his least wrinkled Wonder Woman t-shirt. Kevin looks at him pityingly and ushers him inside the car. Jeremy twists around to grin at him and turns down the volume slightly, though Kevin still has to shout to make himself heard above the music.

“Jeremy, can we stop by the dorms again? Neil could borrow some of Jean's clothes, he always has nice stuff.”

“We're already late because _someone_ had a hair crisis,” Jean shoots back sourly, glaring at Kevin in the rearview mirror. He's all in black, poured into something skin-tight and draped against the passenger side window like a special feature that came with the car, and Jeremy laughs at the betrayed look on Kevin's face.

“Leave him alone, Kev,” he says cheerfully. “There's no dress code, we talked Nicky out of that after last year's disaster with the cops.”

“Do I want to know?” Neil mutters.

“No, you don't,” Jean says loudly before Jeremy can explain.

The party is at Jeremy's parents' house, a large mansion at the edge of town with a sprawling but charmingly overgrown garden and an empty swimming pool behind the house. “Everybody” is playing at full volume when they arrive. Neil follows Kevin into the kitchen where Andrew and Aaron are mixing drinks in eerie synchrony and Katelyn and Marissa are arranging several dozen mini pizzas on a serving plate, trying to figure out which ones are vegetarian so as not to mix them up.

“Neil,” Aaron says, pointing two fingers at him. “Drink?”

Neil shakes his head, still holding his jacket awkwardly in one hand, and regrets it immediately when his mouth starts to feel dry. Aaron finishes off a tray of multicoloured cocktails and whisks it away into the living room while Andrew pours Kevin a shot of vodka without being asked. Then he mixes two more drinks and hands one to Neil.

“Bottoms up,” he commands. “No alcohol for Neil.”

The three of them click their glasses together and Neil takes a tentative sip, tasting mint and lime and making a face at the amount of sugar in it, but the taste kind of grows on him the more he drinks. He grabs a straw and pokes and prods it at the ice cubes in his glass for something to do as Kevin knocks back several shots of vodka under Andrew's careful surveillance and Katelyn comes over to force pizzas on them.

“You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach,” she says, winking, and follows Marissa out with an orange juice for herself.

“So, Neil,” Andrew murmurs when it's just the three of them left in the kitchen. “The most elusive member of our group has decided to come out and join us after all. The way you looked when Nicky asked you, I was sure you wouldn't be caught dead here.”

“I don't like parties,” Neil says clumsily, avoiding his eyes. Andrew leans against the counter, the scars on his arms once again on careless display. He has a cane with him today but it's propped up in a corner for now, light gleaming off its dark handle.

“You don't like people, you mean,” Andrew says.

“Andrew,” Kevin says warningly. Neil wonders uncomfortably what Kevin has told them about him – if they talk about him when he's not around; poor, traumatised Neil with his murderer father and his murdered mother and his intimacy issues...

“I'll go and say hi to Nicky,” Neil says, putting his drink down blindly and making for the door. He can feel Kevin's and Andrew's eyes on his back all the way outside.

The living room is dimly lit and decorated with a myriad of glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface. Music is pouring out of massive speakers and people are dancing, some of them wearing glowsticks around their wrists that leave an almost painful after-impression on Neil's eyes. He inches along the wall until he finds the open sliding doors to the garden where Nicky is holding court by the empty swimming pool, some of the others from the team dotted around the edge of the pool with plates of food and drinks in hand, following the back-and-forth between Nicky and Allison on the merits of Snapchat versus Instagram.

Nicky shrieks when he spots Neil and pulls him down into a fierce hug. Neil mumbles sloppy congratulations into his shoulder and tugs free, relieved when Renee waves him over to her. He sinks into the space beside her and lets his legs dangle into the empty pool next to Renee's. She's wearing another long skirt but her feet are bare and the sleeves of her blouse are rolled up to expose toned forearms and beautiful sprawling watercolour tattoos. She turns her arms to show them to Neil when he leans closer, though it's already too dark to decipher the strings of words that are interwoven with thorny vines and flowers in different pastel colours.

“How are you, Neil?” she asks pleasantly.

“Fine. You?”

“Good, thank you for asking,” she smiles. “I'm happy to be with so many of my friends tonight.”

Neil doesn't know what to say to that and stays silent. “Teenage Dirtbag” spills messily from the living room and Nicky sings along, raising his glass and his phone where he's video-chatting with his husband in Germany. Neil watches as Jeremy tries to coax a surly-faced Jean into dancing with him over by the sliding doors; then he notices Kevin watching them as well, frozen on his way over with a look on his face like he just trod in a puddle of some unidentified liquid and got his socks wet.

Neil looks back to the door, but Jeremy and Jean have been swallowed up by other dancers. There's no trace of the odd expression left on Kevin's face as he joins Neil by the pool and exchanges a few words with Renee.

Neil doesn't participate much in any of the idle conversations flowing around him. He accepts a bottle of coke from Matt even though he doesn't much like soft drinks and lets it go warm between his palms, listening to the music and the chatter, breathing in the thick, velvety spring night. It feels nice to have Kevin by his side like this again. Neil even relaxes so far as to fall back into the old habit of fighting Kevin's battles for him when Kevin gets into an argument with Alvarez about the World Cup, until Kevin pinches his wrist and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile on his mouth. Flushing, Neil reigns in his temper again and excuses himself to the bathroom to cool off while Kevin and Alvarez cheerfully continue their discussion without him.

The nearest bathroom he finds turns out to be occupied. Neil doesn't feel much like venturing deeper into an unfamiliar house and instead waits, leaning against the opposite wall. His mind is drifting and he doesn't realise that an unreasonably long time passes before the door opens and two people step out, still in the process of straightening their clothes.

“Hey, can I have your number?” one of them says breathlessly. Neil can only see his back – dark clothes, narrow waist, gingery blond hair – but his voice doesn't sound like someone he knows. The other one, though, Neil recognises even before Andrew ducks out of the unfamiliar guy's space.

“Nope,” Andrew says, bored. The _p_ pops in his mouth like bubblegum. His t-shirt is untucked from his trousers, a pair of pink suspenders is still hanging around his thighs and his hair is mussed like someone's been running their hand through it. When he turns his head Neil can see a trail of small bruised marks climbing up the side of his neck.

The other guy snorts in mild offence and mutters something impolite under his breath before walking off. Andrew is looking straight at Neil, not even a hint of embarrassment in his gaze.

“Were you waiting for the bathroom?”

Neil jumps a bit at being addressed and nods, feeling his neck flush hotly. Andrew raises a mocking eyebrow and makes a show of stepping aside and waving him through the door. He doesn't have his cane with him and his gait is slightly lopsided when he walks away.

Neil locks the door behind him and looks around awkwardly. The bathroom doesn't bear any evidence of what Andrew and the guy were doing in it just moments before. The window is cracked and the guest towels are undisturbed; one last soap bubble pops conspiratorially in the sink when Neil turns on the water to wash his hands. He leaves again hurriedly and notices Andrew's cane leaning against the wall beside the door, half obscured by the shower curtain. Picking it up makes Neil feel even more like an intruder than standing outside a bathroom where people were engaging in possibly sexual acts had in retrospect, but Andrew is nowhere within sight, so he carries it into the kitchen in the hope of finding him there.

Instead of Andrew, he runs into Marissa. She's sitting on the counter with her curly hair swept up in a bun and someone's suit jacket draped over her shoulders, legs daintily crossed at the ankles, her green dress gaping open at a strategic slit in the side. She's tapping on her phone but looks up when he enters, a smile bubbling easily to the surface of her expression.

“Hey, Neil,” she says shyly. “Did you need a little breather too?”

“Um, yeah,” Neil mutters. “Have you seen Andrew?”

Marissa shakes her head, a few curls escaping from her bun. Someone turns the music up a bit louder in the living room – some Blur song, easy to bounce along to even when drunk – and Marissa offers him a sip of her drink that Neil declines.

“Can I ask you a question?” Marissa says, putting her phone down on the counter. Neil shrugs awkwardly and waits for her to finish examining him. “Katie's always telling me I'm too forward, but – would you mind if I kissed you? I've wanted to for a while now and I hate dancing around the issue.”

Neil is probably staring, but he needs a moment to process this.

“Kiss me,” he echoes weakly. “You mean right now?”

“Yup,” Marissa grins and taps the side of her nose. “I'm just a bit tipsy, don't worry. I'm keeping Katelyn company in sobriety.”

“Uh,” Neil says.

“Just as friends,” Marissa adds with a shrug. “A one-time thing. I don't date, you see. But I do like kissing. No worries if you don't want to, though.”

“Right,” Neil says, nodding. “Great. I – me neither. I mean me too. Okay. I mean yes.”

Marissa doesn't make a big production out of it. She's taller than Neil, so she has to lean down to meet him, and Neil puts a hand on the counter and leaves the other hanging uselessly by his side, unsure if he's allowed to touch. Marissa rests her palm against Neil's shoulder for leverage, just above where the hot-iron scar is. It feels oddly comforting.

The kiss itself is – mainly wet, Neil decides; not in a bad way, but also not in a way that really does anything for him. He's kissed a few people before, including Kevin when they were fifteen and it seemed like they should try, being the only boys potentially interested in other boys that they knew at the time. That kiss, awkward and messy as it was, had been more exciting to Neil than the situation right now, though he blames that on barely knowing Marissa and his general discomfort at being at a party he doesn't feel like he belongs to.

“Mari, where the fuck are y- ohh, oops, sorry guys!”

Neil takes an involuntary step back, his stomach squeezing unpleasantly when he sees Katelyn in the doorway with Andrew standing behind her. Marissa doesn't seem perturbed at the intrusion and laughs, throwing a chocolate raisin from a nearby bowl at her friend. Katelyn ducks and Andrew catches it and pops it in his mouth.

“Um,” Neil says, his voice stuttering over the letters, “I – you forgot your cane.”

He gropes for the cane and thrusts it out at Andrew who takes it with a bored look but doesn't move his gaze from Neil.

“Slut,” Katelyn stage-whispers affectionately at Marissa as she reaches around her and pries the fridge open. Neil bites his tongue to get rid of the sudden dry feeling in his mouth.

“You shouldn't call her that,” he says, though it sounds sullen rather than reprimanding. “It's disrespectful.”

“Aw, Neil, don't get your panties in a twist,” Katelyn says and takes a container of potato salad out of the fridge. Marissa hides a grin behind her hand and passes her a fork. “There's no shame in being a slut.”

“Such a gentleman,” Andrew comments drily, grabbing a second fork and leaning against the table next to Katelyn to share her potato salad. Marissa giggles and nudges Neil with her elbow.

“Thanks, Neil, really. That was very sweet of you. We're not slut-shaming though, we're reclaiming the word,” she says conspiratorially. “Hey Katie, where's your man?”

“Mario Kart pissing contest,” Katelyn says with a shrug. “Last I checked Allison was creaming them all.”

Andrew is still looking at Neil. It's unnerving, and Neil squirms under the scrutiny and abruptly wishes Kevin were here to act as a shield. No one ever pays him much attention when Kevin is around.

For some reason Neil thinks about kissing Andrew on the kitchen counter instead of Marissa. There's no particular urge to actually do it – there rarely ever is – but it's a nice thought. Andrew must be a good kisser if he has sex in bathrooms with strangers and bartenders. The marks on his neck are vivid and purple and Neil wonders if Andrew likes having his neck kissed. He doesn't think he himself would particularly enjoy having someone do that to him, but it's nonetheless intriguing – maybe he'd even enjoy doing it to Andrew.

Marissa puts her arm around him, still chatting to Katelyn. Neil tenses at first, then he wills himself to relax as Marissa lets her head sink onto his shoulder. It's oddly nice for an invasion of his space and Neil is pleasantly baffled at how easily Marissa seems to trust him.

“I need ice-cream,” Katelyn announces when she and Andrew are done with the potato salad, sucking on her spoon. Andrew gets up and peers into the freezer.

“Peach Melba?”

“Sounds dreamy,” Katelyn sighs. Andrew takes the ice-cream out and rolls it between his hands to warm it while Katelyn rummages in the cabinets for toppings and makes a triumphant noise as she emerges with a can of whipped cream and some chocolate sprinkles. She passes the can over to Andrew and he shakes it before spraying some directly into Katelyn's laughing mouth, ducking when she goes after him with the sprinkles.

“Hey,” Marissa whispers. “Thanks for the kiss.”

“You too,” Neil says, feeling a little loose and a little warm and the tiniest bit special at being included in this small, intimate gathering away from the rest of the party, watching Andrew get whipped cream in his hair and pick a squealing Katelyn up before declaring her “too damn heavy” and dropping her in a chair.

“Blame your brother,” Katelyn sings out cheekily, leaning back with her arms crossed on top of her large belly. “He put twins in me.”

“How do I know they're really his?” Andrew tuts. “For all I know, you might have grown them in your lab and implanted them yourself.”

“Alright, you got me,” Katelyn sighs. “I'm really only after the money. I'm selling these babies to a rich barren white couple as soon as they're born.”

“I knew it,” Andrew says serenely, spraying whipped cream on his spoon and licking it off.

“We could share the money,” Katelyn quips and snags the ice-cream. She empties the entire packet of sprinkles on it and then makes grabby motions with her hand until Andrew puts the can of whipped cream in it. “You can have ten percent if you don't tell Aaron.”

“Ten? Never,” Andrew scoffs.

“Fine, fifteen then.”

“Not under forty.”

Marissa nudges Neil's side again and smiles when he looks over.

“You're kind of staring,” she whispers in his ear. “At Andrew. Just so you know.”

Neil's face grows hot and he hurriedly drops his gaze to the counter.

“I'm not,” he mumbles, tugging on his sleeve. Marissa pats his shoulder and hums.

“It's okay, babe. He's hella cute. Bit rude, but nice to look at. No harm in a little staring, is there?”

Neil decides it's time for him to go back outside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (After reading this chapter Janie sent me a picture of [this watercolour knife tattoo](https://www.tattoofilter.com/p/23138) which isn't a switchblade but it's still hella nice and v Andrew & Renee??)


	4. Chapter Three: How You Remind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin pays Neil a visit at home, the Foxes go swimming, Neil gets a piggy-back ride, and Stuart and Neil visit Mary's grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains a short scene that deals with drowning/a panic attack in a swimming pool and a flashback to past abuse connected to that. If you need more information please let me know.
> 
> There is also a conversation where gender dysphoria is mentioned (which I have never experienced myself, so if I fucked that up please let me know!), and Mary and Neil's relationship/Neil's grief over her death gets explored a bit.
> 
> Chapter playlist:  
> [Nickelback – How You Remind Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cQh1ccqu8M)  
> [R.E.M. – Losing My Religion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwtdhWltSIg)  
> [LEN – Steal My Sunshine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzV7uXXJmRE)  
> [Jennifer Paige – Crush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIhSnaqou0I)  
> [TLC – Waterfalls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WEtxJ4-sh4)  
> [Gorillaz – 19-2000](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tq7Ovshz1UI)

“We're going swimming!” Nicky announces the next Sunday after practice. The last days of May have been rinsed down the gutters in a grand thunderstorm, leaving behind a myriad of small white petals that have been ripped from the chestnut trees, and now the temperature has gone up from uncomfortably humid to scorching within a single day. Neil is dripping sweat as he fumbles for his water bottle and promptly drops it again as he hears Nicky's words.

“Thursday's supposed to be the hottest day of the week. I expect you all at the pool by four or whenever you finish work. You too, Neil, I'm not taking no for an answer this time. And I'm not accepting no answer at all, either,” Nicky says, pointing a finger at Neil and attempting to look menacing. It falls somewhere between constipated and cross-eyed instead.

“I can't,” Neil blurts out, though his mind is blank when he tries desperately to come up with a legitimate excuse. He looks to Kevin for help, but Kevin is too busy yelling at Jeremy to put him down – Jeremy, unperturbed by Kevin's increasingly uncouth vocabulary, has him slung over one shoulder and is talking to Jean about his plans to try out for the college soccer team.

“Lalala,” Nicky shouts, clapping his hands over his ears. “Did anyone hear Neil say anything other than _yes Nicky I would love to go swimming with you guys on Thursday_? Because I sure didn't!”

Neil pulls a face and sits down. His legs are shaking from exertion and he gulps down some water, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Andrew is lounging on the ground beside him and weaving a sloppy crown out of daisies and grass, his cane beside him. He hasn't joined them on the pitch today – Nicky said something about his leg being worse – but he's still here, waiting for Aaron and Nicky to get their stuff and say their goodbyes.

“You've got that face,” Andrew observes, poking his fingernail through the stem of a daisy and sticking another one through the hole. “The one that means you're going to cancel last minute no matter how much Nicky pleads.”

“No I don't,” Neil lies. He shoves his shoes into his duffel without knocking the dirt off and tries to find his phone to call Thea. “I just have – plans. Already.”

Andrew snorts.

“Yeah, right.” He rolls onto his back in the grass and drops the flower crown in Neil's lap. “What are you afraid of? There're no sharks in the pool. Can't swim?”

Neil is quiet for a moment, remembering his mother's hands on him as he thrashed in the water of the kiddie pool in the chilly basement of their house. She'd taught him enough to keep his head above water at least, but that was the extent of his swimming lessons – every time the school offered them Mary kept Neil at home so no one would see his scars and bruises. The soccer team might have been used to him running extra laps after practice and showering alone but there was no way around taking off his shirt in public at a swimming pool.

The bruises have faded by now of course, but the scars are still as problematic as ever.

“Yeah, that,” he says, his voice cracking on the word like a tooth on stone. Andrew blinks at the unexpected honesty – not the whole truth of course, never the whole truth, Neil thinks bitterly – and flicks bits of grass off his sleeve.

“I'm sure they have a paddling pool,” he smirks. “And, you know, there's ice-cream. So you really have no excuse.”

“Fuck off,” Neil grumbles. He finds his phone at last and pulls up Thea's number, eager to get home and take a cool shower and forget all about public swimming pools and Andrew Minyard's ice-cream smirk.

*

The doorbell rings on Tuesday afternoon and wakes Neil up from his nap. He blinks against the warm light streaming in through the window and rolls slowly onto his back, feeling like he drank a whole pot of coffee by himself and like a truck ran him over at the same time.

He's on the squishy sofa in the downstairs living room, Shimmy curled up against his side and a cold cup of tea on the table. Stuart is working in his office at home today and Neil assumes that the person ringing the doorbell is here to deliver something for him and doesn't bother getting up. He can hear Stuart's voice and the sound of the door closing, then two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. That's unusual – Stuart is very particular about who he lets inside his house, which Neil appreciates – so maybe it's a big delivery, something heavy...

“Nathaniel?” Stuart calls softly from the doorway. Neil twists around, a sudden snap of adrenaline thrumming in his veins, and sees Kevin hovering nervously behind Stuart.

“Fuck's sake,” Neil mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I'm sorry,” Stuart tells Kevin in a low, dry voice. “He's a bit raw on manners when he's tired and it seems we've woken him from his nap. Tea?”

“Um,” Kevin says, looking a little alarmed at the prospect. “I, yes? Why not, I suppose. Thank you, Mr Hatford.”

Stuart nods, pleased, and slinks away to see to the tea. He'll be a couple of minutes, Neil figures.

“What,” he croaks, dragging himself into a sitting position and upsetting Shimmy in the process. She jumps down with an offended noise and a yawn and goes to curl up on the armchair instead.

“Hello to you too,” Kevin says primly and perches next to him on the sofa. “I texted you. Three times.”

“Phone's off,” Neil grumbles.

“I get the feeling your phone is always off these days,” Kevin points out.

“Hate phones,” Neil says. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and slides down into the cushions, arms crossed in front of his chest. The sleeve of his t-shirt has ridden up to reveal an old white scar and it niggles at the edges of his consciousness until he yanks it down, even though he knows Kevin has seen it before. “Why're you here?”

Kevin sighs and shrugs a little awkwardly.

“Can't I check in on my – on a friend?”

His lips pull flat at the near slip. They haven't been best friends since Neil moved out of his father's house and cut all contact to the outside world. Neil refuses to feel guilty for it right now though, and hugs himself tighter, propping one foot up on the edge of the sofa.

“I'm fine,” he says dully. “So...”

Kevin doesn't say anything for a long time and Neil feels hot and itchy when he realises that Kevin is looking at him.

“Stop that. I'm not your pet project. Not anymore.”

“You were never my pet project,” Kevin scoffs.

“Please,” Neil says scathingly. “You were the most popular guy in school. I was the weird twitchy kid with the stutter and no friends, whose parents didn't let him out of the house except for class and soccer practice.”

“Oh, alright,” Kevin sniffs. “You were a bit, in the beginning maybe. But I would've lost interest if that had been all of it and you know it.”

That much at least is true. Kevin only has two states – utterly uninterested or obsessed – and Neil has always fallen into the latter category, if only because their moms were unlikely friends and because Neil was the only one on their team who could match Kevin's skill and devotion on the pitch.

“How's your mom?” Neil asks to stamp out the uncomfortable lapse in conversation.

“Good, she's travelling at the moment.” Kevin hesitates, then adds slyly: “I live with my dad now.”

Neil gapes a little.

“Your _dad_? But... how did you–”

“I found a letter,” Kevin grins. There's a mischievous twinkle in his green eyes, the kind he used to get when he was about to get into yet another argument with their history teacher. “One day I just slapped it down on the table and demanded she tell me everything. And she did.”

“Who?”

“Wymack,” Kevin says, the grin widening at the look on Neil's face.

“I can't believe it,” Neil says weakly. “Wymack as in David Wymack, our grumpy P.E. teacher?”

Kevin nods.

“I know. All that time he was hanging around the pitch, and we never put two and two together – gear room maintenance my ass.”

“Are they together?”

“No,” Kevin says, smiling. “They never really made it work. He has a nice girlfriend though, Abby. She's Andrew's doctor.”

Neil sits and digests this for a while. Stuart comes back in with a full tea tray – scones with jam and clotted cream and a pot of Irish Breakfast. Neil huffs a laugh. The one thing Stuart could always be counted on to remember about Kevin: that Kayleigh's family is Irish.

He watches as Stuart fusses with the tea and asks Kevin about college. Kevin is happy to ramble about his history degree and even accepts a scone, eyeing the clotted cream warily like its fat content will jump out and strangle him. Neil makes a point of slathering his own with as much cream and jam as will fit and smirks when Kevin looks vaguely appalled.

Some things never change.

Kevin doesn't stick around after tea. He makes a point of reminding Neil to turn on his phone and come to the pool with them and has to peel a cat off his lap twice before he can get up and look for his shoes. Neil and Shimmy trail after him to the door and Kevin dithers for a moment before pulling Neil into a stiff, one-armed hug.

“See you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, rolling his eyes and shoving Kevin away from him. Shimmy, who dislikes the cat flap that leads into the garden, slips out through the front door with Kevin and sees him off to the gate while Neil stays behind, watching him go.

Kevin opens the door to a beat-up truck that might be his dad's – Wymack's, Neil will have to get used to that – and waves at him one more time before getting in, checking twice to make sure that he doesn't run over any of the cats as he pulls out of the driveway.

Neil feels strange as he waits for the car to disappear down the street. Like he's found something he'd forgotten he owned, carelessly stashed away in a drawer somewhere.

He shakes his head and goes back inside.

*

Thursday, as predicted, is burning hot. Neil already feels heavy and constricted when he wakes up in a twisted mess of blankets, dried sweat sticking to his skin. He spends most of the day in the cool basement of Stuart's house with a pitcher of iced tea, trying to find a position where his laptop doesn't singe his bare skin. He puts on a loose t-shirt that he thinks might have belonged to Kevin once upon a time when the doorbell rings four times in quick succession and he realises that Stuart has gone out, but it's not Kevin this time – it's Andrew.

“Look alive,” he greets Neil. “Your taxi's here.”

Neil glances behind him and sees the shiny black car idling at the curb. Nicky and Aaron are in the back, Katelyn waving cheerfully out of the open passenger side window.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Pack your issues and a towel, we don't have all day.”

Andrew's bare arms are crossed in front of his chest. He's wearing a black sleeveless shirt, a pair of lurid pink flamingo-patterned swimming trunks and faded pink flip-flops. His hair is twisty with sweat where it sticks to his forehead, and for the first time Neil notices the thick, corded scars on his leg that must be a relic from the accident.

He swallows.

“I need – give me a moment,” he says before disappearing back into the cool interior of the house. He's sweating just from the brief exposure to the heat. There's no way he is taking off his shirt in public, but he quickly shoves a towel and some water and sunscreen into his duffel bag and grabs a book off Stuart's shelf that he's probably not going to read to use as an excuse for not going into the water. When he steps outside with the keys clutched tight in his fist, Andrew has already gone back into the car and Neil has to squeeze onto the back seat with Nicky and Aaron, though the air conditioning is a relief at least.

“Let's gooooo,” Nicky crows, leaning over and offering his fist to Neil who stares at it for a moment too long before tentatively bumping it with his own. Nicky grins and retreats to his side.

There is a large outdoor area surrounding the pool, but it's already crowded when they arrive. Nicky calls Dan and even with her directions it takes them a while to find the others. They're camped out under a cluster of trees on a rainbow riot of towels and picnic blankets, and Neil quietly spreads his towel in a patch of shade on the outskirts of the group and sits down. Dan's swimsuit is already wet and Allison is lounging in the sun in a tiny bikini and an oversized pair of sunglasses, large gold earrings dangling from her ears and her toenails painted bright pink. Renee is lying in the shade with a book, still wearing a cheery yellow sundress, and Matt and Seth are just coming back from the pool, dripping water everywhere and roaring with laughter over a joke.

“Neil, are you coming with?” Nicky calls, already down to his trunks. “There's a diving board, come on, we'll team up against the twins.”

Neil shakes his head and tries not to look too awkward as he stutters out something about wanting to stay in the shade for now. It's Andrew who unexpectedly comes to his rescue by telling Nicky and Aaron to go on ahead and sitting down on a blanket next to Neil.

“You don't want to go in?” Neil mumbles, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Not yet,” Andrew shrugs. He grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it off in one fluid motion, then takes out a bottle of sunscreen and starts rubbing it over his arms with a faintly disgusted expression, like he's offended by his own pale skin.

Someone, somewhere starts playing music on their phone. The muffled, tinny sound trickles through the syrupy heat, no breeze in sight. Neil looks up at the dizzy blue sky, feeling sluggish and tired even though he's barely done anything today, and lies down on his towel with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Andrew continues to apply sunscreen, rubbing a generous amount over his chest, pink nipples peaking prettily as he brushes his palm over them. There are moles dotted over his side and his stomach looks round and squidgy when he hunches forward, so much softer than the bony, scarred, taut expanse of Neil's own. Dimly Neil thinks that he would like to put his head on Andrew's tummy and fall asleep there.

He tries to look at Andrew's tattoos instead – the knife on his arm, a spray of dark pink rosehips on his thigh just visible underneath the hem of his shorts, an intricate, eerie angler fish swimming below his collarbone and a delicate, barely visible web of star constellations on his back that Neil kind of wants to trace with his fingers.

“So,” Andrew says, bending forward to finish his legs and clicking the bottle shut after wiping the excess sunscreen off his hands. “What's the big dark secret then? A gross skin disease? Mastectomy scars? Bruises? A mole in the shape of Donald Trump's hair? Don't worry, I've seen it all before. Well, except for the mole. That would actually be fun.”

“I – what?” Neil croaks, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Just wondering why you won't take your shirt off,” Andrew says casually. Then he wiggles his fingers at him in dismissal and flops down on the blanket next to him, crossing his arms behind his head. “Doesn't matter, keep your secrets. Where's Kevin?”

“I, um, I don't know,” Neil chokes out, still reeling from Andrew's earlier question. “I think he was going to catch a ride from campus with Jeremy and Jean.”

Andrew clucks his tongue. There's a smear of white near his nose where he didn't rub the sunscreen in properly. His trunks are riding low on his hipbones and Neil wonders abstractly what it would be like to kiss one of his nipples. His skin looks so soft. He'd probably taste like sunscreen.

“You're spaced out today,” Andrew remarks.

“'S just the heat,” Neil slurs, hastily forcing his eyes shut.

“Tell me something true about you,” Andrew demands after a moment. A drowsy bee buzzes past Neil's face and he blinks up at the still leaves of the tree above him.

“Um,” he says. “Like what?”

“I don't know,” Andrew says. “Anything.”

“I have five cats?” Neil tries.

“Five,” Andrew repeats. “Really.”

“U-huh,” Neil says. “Now you.”

He trails a hand into the grass beyond his towel and rips out a handful of clover. Shrieks and splashes drift over from the pool and the girls are talking about a movie night they're planning – Allison thinks they should make it horror movies only, Dan wants some action movies as well, and Katelyn and Renee are valiantly trying to convince them of the merits of some indie romcom they saw at the cinema.

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew sighs. “Don't you know everything I say is true?”

“I know that everything you say is ridiculous,” Neil tells him with a snort. “Besides, you started it. So tell me something.”

“Okay,” Andrew says blandly. “You know how sometimes you stand in the drinks aisle at the supermarket and you stare at the shelves for an hour because you can't bring yourself to pick something, even though you know exactly what you usually like, and then you leave without buying anything because it's just one of those days?”

“I... guess?” Neil says. He can't remember the last time he went to a supermarket. Usually Uncle Stuart takes care of the grocery shopping or they order online.

“Right,” Andrew says. “And then other days you go and you put two of everything in your cart, even though you don't have enough money to pay for all that, even though you fucking hate Coke Zero and you know that fucking Gatorade makes you piss your pants in your sleep, but you just can't stop?”

“Not really,” Neil admits. Andrew doesn't say anything for so long that Neil has to ask: “What's your point?”

“That was my point,” Andrew sighs. “There's a reason why Nicky does most of our shopping.”

There's a pause, and then Andrew starts laughing, and something tickles in Neil's throat until he's laughing along without even really knowing why.

“Gatorade makes you piss your pants?” he asks when they've both calmed down again.

“One time,” Andrew says almost cheerfully. “Or maybe it was the whisky. I'm not taking any chances.”

“There you go,” Neil grins. “Don't blame the poor Gatorade for the fact that you can't hold your liquor. Literally.”

“Like you have room to talk. If I remember correctly you stayed completely sober at Nicky's party.”

“So did you,” Neil points out. Andrew waves a sloppy hand through the air and drops it back to his side.

“Antidepressants and painkillers don't mix well with alcohol. Sucks to be me.”

Neil doesn't know what to say to that. He is distracted by the arrival of Kevin, Jeremy and Jean, who seem to have also picked up Laila and Alvarez on their way, and then Nicky and Aaron are back as well. Nicky promptly gets pulled into the movie debate while Andrew makes his brother rub sunscreen into his back where he couldn't reach earlier. Aaron nearly gets himself punched when he dares to mess up Andrew's hair, rolling out of reach at the last moment with a surprised shout of laughter breaking through the serious facade.

Andrew gets up and taps Neil's shoulder.

“Ice-cream now,” he says. “Come on.”

Neil peels himself off his towel and follows meekly. Stepping out into the sun is like having a big hand push down on his head. He feels bloated with heat, slow and sleepy; the cold, electric blue water of the pool looking more inviting than ever, sunlight breaking merrily on the busy surface as people jump off the diving boards and shove each other around.

Andrew gets a Magnum Gold for himself and raises an unimpressed eyebrow when Neil picks a simple lemon popsicle, but he pays for both of them despite Neil's protest. They wander back slowly, nibbling on their ice-cream, Andrew limping slightly without his cane though he doesn't seem to be in pain today.

“I have scars,” Neil blurts out just as Andrew puts the entire bottom half of his Magnum into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he pulls it back out with an obscene sucking sound. Andrew looks at him expectantly and Neil says: “From... My father was... They're really. Ugly. That's why I don't want to take off my shirt.”

“Then don't,” is all Andrew says.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Once they've finished their ice-cream Andrew tugs on Neil's sleeve and leads him over to the pool where he steps out of his flip-flops and sits on the edge, patting the spot next to him until Neil lowers himself down and sticks his legs into the cool water. A shiver runs down his spine at the contrast between the warmth on his back and the cold around his legs.

“Stay,” Andrew tells him before slipping into the water until it covers his head. He comes back up, shaking himself off, then swims a few lazy laps before coming back to hang off the side of the pool where Neil sits, kicking his legs from time to time to stay afloat.

“Hello, you two. Mind if I join you?” Renee says from behind. Andrew twirls his hand in acknowledgement and Renee folds herself down next to Neil, still in her sundress and a large, floppy sun hat. There are more tattoos climbing up her bare legs – rich buttery sunflowers and delicate sprigs of lavender – and Neil wonders if she's done them herself.

“Neil doesn't want to swim,” Andrew informs Renee. Something seems to pass between them and Renee nods once before turning to Neil and asking him what he thinks Katelyn and Aaron should name their twins when they're born, while Andrew kicks off for another lap.

They both watch Andrew's progress in the water for a while. Neil squints against the harsh reflections of the sunlight and fiddles nervously with the hem of his t-shirt.

“You don't want to go in?” he asks Renee, feeling awkward about the delicate spider's web of silence between them.

“I do,” Renee says softly. “But I am feeling very dysphoric today and I'd rather not take off my dress.”

She smiles at him when he looks at her, though there's something a little wobbly and vulnerable in the corners of her mouth.

“I, oh,” Neil stammers, feeling hot all of a sudden. “You mean you – I mean... um...”

“I am a girl,” Renee says. “A lot of people would say that my body does not match my gender. Most days I don't agree with them, but it's not always easy. Being at peace with myself is a constant learning experience.”

“Oh,” Neil says again, stupidly. He knows that trans people exist, of course; he's even talked to a few on the internet. As always, though, he feels much less articulate talking to someone face-to-face than through the safety of his laptop screen. “I'm sorry,” he blurts out, then cringes. “I mean, it's not that I feel sorry for you, I just... that's... um, rough. I guess?”

“It is, sometimes,” Renee agrees. “But I have friends and a mother who accept and support me. Many people are not so lucky.”

“Yeah,” Neil says and swallows. “I can imagine. Thank you for telling me.”

“I am trying to be as open about it as possible,” Renee says with a small smile. “That's my personal decision. I volunteer at an LGBT youth centre with Nicky, we have a group every Saturday. Anyone is welcome. We could use some help setting up tables and snacks actually, so if you want, why don't you drop by some time?”

“I don't know,” Neil mumbles, eyes fixed on his hands in his lap and the small scar on his knee where his shorts pull up. “I, I don't really know what... what I am.”

Renee reaches over to put her hand lightly on Neil's wrist.

“That's okay,” she says. “You don't have to slap a label on yourself just to fit some arbitrary mould. It's your business.”

Neil swallows and nods and tries not to feel guilty that she's comforting him when they were talking about her just a minute ago.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Your tattoos are very lovely, by the way.”

Renee grins at him and kicks her legs a bit in the water, making waves. Her nails are painted the same shade of pink as Allison's. Andrew reappears beside Renee and pulls himself out of the water, hiking his butt up on the edge of the pool and dripping everywhere, his trunks clinging to his legs. Renee teases him about giving up so early and Neil looks up when someone calls his name, seeing Matt, Nicky and Seth on their way over to them.

Nicky tuts when he sees his dry clothes.

“You're still not in the water, Neil?”

“We can change that,” Matt grins, rubbing his hands together. Nicky swats ineffectually at him, but before Neil can say anything, Matt and Seth have grabbed him and are swinging him out across the pool, dropping him into the ice-cold water.

The shock makes his limbs seize up in panic.

For a moment he's six years old again, coughing and spluttering as his father pushes his head under a relentless stream of cold water in the bathtub with an iron grip on the back of his head, angry shouts muffled in Nathaniel's ears. He doesn't even know what he's done wrong this time. All he knows is that if he opens his mouth he'll breathe in water. Nathan yanks him back from time to time to shake him, and he gasps and pleads for him to stop, but every time Nathan shoves him back under until his lungs are burning and his throat feels scraped raw and the pressure in his chest threatens to overwhelm him.

Something takes hold of his arms and pulls him up. His head is back above water and he realises he's gripping Andrew's shoulders tight enough to leave bruises, but he can't make himself let go.

“Breathe,” Andrew tells him, and Neil coughs and sucks in a series of painful, shuddering breaths. Andrew nods, satisfied, and slowly leads them over to a ladder where Matt and Nicky are waiting and looking worried.

“Fuck,” Matt says. “Fuck, Neil, I'm so sorry.”

“You should have told us,” Nicky moans, wringing his hands. Neil can't deal with their concern right now, he just needs to get out of the water. He puts one hand on the ladder, then the other, but his feet are still too heavy to lift.

“Up,” Andrew commands, arms held up behind him in case Neil slips and falls, but otherwise not touching him. “You can climb a fucking ladder, Neil.”

Nicky shoots him a dark look and Matt holds out his hands to help Neil pull himself out. Back on solid ground Neil stumbles against Matt's chest, and then Andrew is back by his side, steadying him.

“We're sorry,” Matt says again. “We didn't know you can't swim. That was a really shitty thing to do.”

“Not our fucking fault if he doesn't tell us,” Seth grumbles. “He's alive, I don't see what the fuss is about.”

“It's fine,” Neil tells Matt dully. It's not really fine but he doesn't feel like arguing about it now. His clothes are sopping wet and the adrenaline seems to have left his body all at once, leaving him tired and exhausted, his stomach in painful knots.

“It's not fine,” Matt says firmly, shaking his head. “Come on, I'll lend you some clothes.”

Renee goes ahead to fetch him a towel. Neil wraps himself tightly in it, glad for the extra coverage, and lets himself be led back to their group and fussed over by Matt, Kevin and Dan. Matt's clothes are far too big for him, so he ends up with a pair of loose harem pants from Dan, a spare t-shirt from Andrew, and a sweat jacket from Kevin since he's still shivering despite the heat. He almost cries at the prospect of having to change in front of the others and wonders if he can just stay wrapped up in his towel until he's dry again, but then Andrew tugs on the towel and motions for him to stand up.

The towel is big enough that it covers most of him when Andrew takes it and holds it up around him like a mobile changing room stall. He pointedly looks away and waits, and Neil fumbles his wet clothes off with difficulty, feeling far too exposed despite the towel. His skin and underwear are still wet and the new clothes stick to him in uncomfortable places. When he's finally dressed he pulls the towel out of Andrew's hands to let him know and sinks down on a blanket to catch his breath.

Andrew, thankfully, doesn't try to talk to him. Kevin keeps shoving water bottles at him until Aaron snaps at him to just leave him the fuck alone, which is surprising since Neil's never really talked to Aaron before, but he's glad for the respite it gives him and curls up on his towel with his back to everyone else for a nap.

When he wakes up Andrew is still sitting guard between him and the others. Most of them have gone for a last swim and the area is starting to get emptier as the yolk of the sun is slipping lower in the sky. Neil feels a bit clearer in his head now that the heat isn't as oppressive anymore. He also feels incredibly silly about what happened when Matt immediately lurches over to tell him that he's sorry again, but Matt makes such a show falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness that he almost has to laugh.

“It's fine,” he says, meaning it this time, and Matt wails and beats the ground one more time before stopping.

“You forgive me?”

“I forgive you,” Neil says, rolling his eyes. His stomach makes a hungry sound and Matt perks up.

“I'll buy you dinner,” he decides. “Whatever you want. Just you and me. The others can... whatever. What do you say?”

Neil blinks and looks out at their group, everyone chatting and laughing as they pack up. He's about to say yes – he _is_ hungry and he doesn't want to be around so many people anymore, his social energy is more than depleted – when he takes a step back into the grass and feels a sudden stinging pain in his foot.

There's a wasp stuck to the sole of his foot when he lifts it. Matt gasps and crouches down to remove it – its sting is still embedded in Neil's skin. It doesn't hurt nearly as badly as Neil would have expected it to, but after everything that's happened today he feels a tiny bit of hysteria bubbling up in his throat at the sight.

“Shit,” Matt says. “That's going to hurt like a motherfucker later. Is the ice-cream thing still open? It's better to cool it right away.”

“I'm fine,” Neil says. “I can walk, I think.”

“Mm, but you shouldn't,” Matt hums. He turns around, still crouching in front of Neil, and gestures at his back. “Here, I'll give you a piggyback ride to the car.”

Neil is too tired to argue and climbs on his back with an annoyed huff.

He expects the others to laugh at him. What he doesn't expect is for Kevin, Allison, Aaron _and_ Jeremy to get into an argument about who will get to carry Neil on their back next until Matt puts his foot down and tells them he's not relinquishing piggyback rights at all today. Nicky wraps Neil's still damp clothes in his towel and Dan carries his bag to the cars for him while Andrew bullies the ice-cream vendor into selling him two more Magnums before he locks up. He carefully straps one to Neil's foot with two of Katelyn's hair-ties; the other he unwraps and eats, passing it back and forth with Renee and talking idly about whether, should such an apocalyptic situation arise, mosquitoes would be able to infect people with the zombie virus. Meanwhile Aaron and Katelyn give Neil some tips on how to treat the wasp sting when he gets home, Jeremy loudly wonders why wasps are allowed to exist at all, and Jean has a surprising outburst about their ecological usefulness.

It's – quite overwhelming to be in the middle of it all, but also strangely nice, Neil thinks.

*

Wasp stings, it turns out, really do hurt a lot worse over time.

Neil is sitting in the passenger seat of Matt's truck, picking his way through a cheese burger and feeling like his foot is slowly rotting off. Matt is telling him about his kindergarten kids' confusion when he changed his last name to Wilds after getting married to Dan and their plans for having children of their own soon, and it takes all of Neil's concentration to stay engaged in the conversation, even if all he contributes to it is the occasional “oh” or a small nod or smile. Like Nicky, Matt doesn't seem to mind the one-sidedness very much.

It's almost dark now, the sky a deep watercolour blue, heavy-lidded over the last cat-eye sliver of orange on the horizon. The radio is playing “19-2000” by the Gorillaz, a song that will forever remind Neil of goofing off with Kevin in the back seat of Kayleigh's car on the way home from practice and Kevin doing his best impressions of their teachers to distract Neil from thinking about whether or not his father was going to be in a good mood that night.

“How did you know that you're in love with Dan?” Neil asks Matt. He nudges a pickle off his burger and takes a bite. Matt hums as he thinks about his response, tapping his mouth with a fry.

“It was a process,” he says at last. “I didn't just wake up one day and think, this is it. I just loved her a little more each day. Still do, in fact.”

He grins and steals Neil's unwanted pickle before wolfing down the rest of his fries.

“Any reason you're asking?”

“No,” Neil says. “Just curious. I'm... I've never been in love, that's all.”

“Aw, buddy,” Matt croons, then one of his big hands lands on Neil's shoulder in a comforting pat. “You'll find your person one day, I promise. Just keep your eyes peeled and your heart open.”

“I – that's not – thanks,” Neil stammers. “Do you want the rest of my burger?”

“If you're sure?”

Neil hands it over and wipes his hands on a napkin. He looks out the window at the darkening street. Stars are popping up now and he thinks of camping out on the roof of Kevin's house with flashlights and blankets and a tin of Kayleigh's homemade fruit leather, watching the sky for meteors and talking about their plans for the future. It's a comfort to know that neither of them have become vigilante superheroes or won Olympic gold yet. Kevin, at least, is well on his way to a Master's degree in history and a fully funded PhD position in the department of his choice, and Neil is proud of him for that – one of them had to make it, after all.

“Hey,” Matt says. “You wanna go home?”

“Yeah,” Neil sighs, grateful. His foot is throbbing and his thoughts are whirling, scattering memories around like old papers. It's time to get another ice pack and go to bed.

“Here, can you enter your address in the navigation app?”

Matt unlocks his phone and throws it at him. Neil catches it reflexively and has to stare at the screen background for a moment – it's a picture from the festival, taken of their blanket picnic; some of the girls have thrown up peace signs and Nicky is making a face with his chin on Aaron's shoulder, and there in the background is Neil, sitting between Kevin and Andrew and smiling at something Kevin must have said.

It's been so long since Neil has seen himself in a photo, let alone _smiling_. It feels like vertigo. He looks at it for so long that the screen goes black again and he drops the phone in surprise.

“I can tell you where to go,” he says, all but shoving the phone back into the cup holder and clenching his hands into fists in his lap. “Take a right turn at the next crossing.”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Matt hums.

Neil quietly wrings his hands for a while, then clears his throat.

“Do you, uh. Can you send me that photo? On your phone?”

“Hmm? Oh, absolutely,” Matt smiles. “I have more, if you want them.”

“Yes,” Neil says. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

*

“I'm going to visit Mary. Are you coming with?”

Neil looks up from where he's brushing the knots out of Jaffa's thick fur. Jaffa is puddled on the floor, purring deeply, and bats at the brush in Neil's hand to reprimand him for stopping.

“I,” he says, his throat constricting around the words. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Stuart says. “I'm not waiting for you.”

He turns and gets his shoes, leaving Neil to dither in the hallway. Jaffa meows insistently and rubs himself against Neil's legs, and Neil gives him a few last half-hearted brushstrokes and an apologetic kiss on the nose before getting up.

The graveyard where Mary Hatford is buried is on the other side of town, on the back of a hill overlooking the botanic garden. Stuart drives them there himself and stops to buy some flowers on the way – some pink carnations and a bouquet of white roses – before parking in a side street at the base of the hill. They walk up the path together in silence, sunlight dappling through the trees that make a busy green canopy above them. There are plaques on posts spaced at regular intervals along the path, depicting the stations of the cross, and Neil tries not to look at the bloody images and focus on the soothing greenery instead. Insects hum faintly in the hedges, the sky is a soft blue beyond the trees.

It's a peaceful place, more peaceful than Mary's life ever was. They walk around the small church at the top of the hill and enter the graveyard through the creaking gate. Stuart dips two fingers in a dish of holy water and touches them to his forehead, making a cross shape. Neil tightens his hand around the carnations and follows him down the slope of the hill until they reach Mary's grave just as the church bells start ringing. The clear, overlapping patterns of sound reverberate strangely in Neil's chest. He lets Stuart clear away the remains of old flowers and burnt-down candles on the grave and drops his carnations next to Stuart's roses before turning away and walking down the path to a bench that sits in the shade.

His hands are trembling when he sits down. He stares at them, not really feeling anything, his mind blank even as he tries to think of his mom.

All he can come up with today is the feeling of her hand yanking hard at his hair and the sound of her voice hissing threats in his ear so he wouldn't fuck up when his father got home from a business trip and expected everything to be exactly as he had left it.

“You don't have to always miss her, you know,” Stuart says as he sits down next to Neil, hitching up the legs of his trousers and folding his jacket carefully over the back of the bench. “She was a flawed human being, just like all of us. Just because she is dead doesn't mean you have to pretend she was the perfect mother.”

“I know,” Neil says, his voice small and miserable. “But she was my mom.”

Stuart lets his hand rest on Neil's shoulder for a moment. They both look out across the city – the haze of early summer blurring out the blue of the sky, the glittering buildings rising up in the distance, the lush green of the gardens below and the duller green of the river snaking through the town. A butterfly flits past and Neil shakes off a wayward ant where it's tickling his hand. There are a few other people tending to the graves today, but everyone seems to be in their own world, locked in mute exchange with the spirits of the dead buried in the cool soil.

“Did I ever tell you that she came to me the day she found out she was pregnant with you?” Stuart says. “She was scared, I could tell. I asked her if she needed me to arrange something for her, get her in touch with a doctor who could provide a discreet abortion without Nathan ever finding out. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, 'over my dead body'.”

Neil's throat clenches and he chokes out a “yeah, well, here we are,” just before the tears start to force their way out of his eyes. He clamps his mouth shut and bows his head, willing Stuart's phone to ring – it does that often enough, but of course Stuart has it turned off when Neil really needs him to be distracted.

Stuart at least awards him the decency of giving him space while he struggles to get himself back under control. For a wild moment Neil thinks he could really use one of Nicky's hugs right now, then he wipes his sleeve viciously over his face and gets up.

“I want to go home.”

Stuart sighs and picks up his jacket. He looks like he wants to say something, but he decides against it and follows Neil down a different path so they don't have to pass by Mary's grave again.

They're silent on the way home. There's a squashed pink carnation in the foothold by the passenger seat that must have fallen out earlier, and Neil takes it into the house with him and puts it in a glass of water, placing it on his bedside table before he goes to sleep that night.

 


	5. Chapter Four: Nine In The Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil hangs out with the Foxes some more, and then things happen, and then another thing happens. Um... surprise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big fat thank you to everyone who left such nice comments on this fic or recced it or just generally let me know that they can relate to what Neil is going through, it really means a lot <3
> 
> Hmm... possibly I should warn for mentions of sex (no descriptions/porn though, check out my strategic fade to black there) and somewhat uncomfortable/inappropriate party conversations? (Personally I would still maintain the T rating but please let me know if you think I should upgrade to M.)
> 
> Chapter playlist:  
> [Phil Collins – Easy Lover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aJ2Vh_e2dQ)  
> [Backstreet Boys – Quit Playing Games (With My Heart)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ug88HO2mg44)  
> [Panic! At The Disco – Nine In The Afternoon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCto3PCn8wo)  
> [Alt-J – Breezeblocks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVeMiVU77wo)  
> [Oasis – Stop Crying Your Heart Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhZUsNJ-LQU)  
> [The Verve – Bittersweet Symphony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lyu1KKwC74)

It gets easier, going to practice every week.

Neil still doesn't join them at the pub very often and he declines more invitations than he accepts, but even Nicky seems to have understood by now that Neil just isn't as social as the rest of them and sometimes needs his space. They always ask, though, and they always seem happy when he does show up. Neil doesn't understand it but it's nice – being part of a group, even just on the fringes like this, is nice. The high school soccer team and his anonymous presence on a few internet forums aside, Neil hasn't ever really experienced that before.

Over the course of June, Neil goes out more times than in the seven years he's been living with Stuart put together. He takes part in a few informal meetings at the café where Nicky and Andrew work, helps out twice with Renee and Nicky's LGBT youth group, and goes bowling with Matt, Dan, Allison and the twins only to find out he's absolutely terrible at it. Thankfully the twins are both really good and keep up the score for their team despite Neil's utter failure to contribute. He goes shopping for baby clothes with Katelyn and Marissa without really knowing how he ended up at the mall with them, accompanies Nicky to the post office to find out what the postage for a parcel to Germany is, and somehow winds up having pizza with a drunk Kevin at three AM. When Neil delivers Kevin home after the pizza, half-asleep and mumbling about cheese in the wee hours of the morning, there is also a very awkward encounter with one David Wymack that Neil would rather just forget about altogether. The rest of the memories, however, are all surprisingly pleasant.

Dan hosts a movie night a few days before Allison's birthday party. Neil goes because he thinks watching movies together will mean that he won't be expected to talk much and because Nicky promised to bring fruit salad and Andrew looked at him like _that_. Neil is dismayed to find that his small infatuation with Andrew hasn't gone away – on the contrary, he thinks he might be developing a very inconvenient crush. Andrew seems thankfully unaware of it, which is the only saving grace, really; though Neil is sure he can feel some of the others looking at him pityingly whenever Andrew goes to meet his bartender or disappears with some random guy.

Dan and Matt's place is small but welcoming, full of cosy mismatched furniture and photos of their friends and families. The only thing out of place are some expensive-looking electronics that Matt says were a moving in present from his mom. One wall is covered in handprints done with finger paint – Matt explains that they had all of their guests contribute to it at their housewarming party – and another proudly displays several years' worth of pictures that Matt's kindergarten kids have drawn and given to him. Neil is early so Dan gives him the tour while Matt prepares snacks in the kitchen, telling him anecdotes about various photographs and showing him a giant stuffed monkey that Matt won at a fair for her and which sits in a corner of their bedroom. Neil rather thinks he'd be terrified if he woke up in the night and saw it lurking in the shadows, but Dan only laughs when he points this out.

“Hey, Dan!” Matt calls as they come back out into the living room. “Look what I found!”

He's holding up a tin of bright orange finger paint. Dan grins approvingly and beckons Neil closer.

“Come on,” she says. “There's some space left, you can add your handprint to our wall.”

“All our friends are on there,” Matt says proudly, and something tangles up hopelessly in Neil's stomach like an ancient cassette tape. He lets Matt and Dan lead him over to the wall by the front door and swallows when Matt holds out the paint.

“How about here,” Dan says, tapping a pink handprint at shoulder height. “This one's Andrew. We wanted the twins together but Aaron went all the way over there just to be petty because Andrew had talked him into sending some embarrassing drunk texts to Katelyn.”

“Are you sure?” Neil asks in a small voice.

“Of course we're sure,” Matt grins, rolling his eyes. “It's already a hideous mess, might as well have fun with it.”

Neil holds still as Matt coats his hand in the orange paint, then he carefully presses his hand against the wall next to Andrew's print. When he steps away it looks like the pink and orange hands are reaching out to each other. Dan cheers and Matt pats his shoulder before sending him into the bathroom to wash his hands, and then the others start arriving and cluttering up the space around the TV.

Andrew and Renee are the last to arrive. They both have freshly dyed hair – Andrew's is back to full bubblegum pink, Renee's is a beautiful gradient from white to pink and magenta, and Neil has the strange urge to ask Andrew if he can run his fingers through his hair even though nothing except for the colour has really changed. He shakes it off and tucks himself into a corner of the sofa with a cup of juice and one of the cheesy hot dogs made by Matt.

Halfway through the first movie Allison pauses the romance scene in progress and declares that she's bored of heteronormativity now before putting in an independent horror movie that only Kevin has heard of before.

“Nerd,” Jeremy whispers fondly, ruffling Kevin's hair as Matt turns off the lights again and Renee passes a fresh bowl of popcorn around. Andrew puts a single piece in his mouth, looks appalled that it's salty instead of sweet and pushes the bowl at Neil, who is already full from all the other snacks and passes it on to Aaron and Katelyn.

The movie is long and ridiculously, exaggeratedly gory. Neil finds his attention wandering, equal parts bored by all the fake blood and severed limbs and distracted by the way Andrew is pressed up against his side on the small couch. Andrew smells faintly like hair dye and some sweet conditioner and he feels hot through the thin fabric of his shirt. Neil is shivering a little despite the humid warmth in the room and has to actively keep his head from sinking onto Andrew's broad shoulder.

He dimly registers Jeremy leaving for the bathroom, though he doesn't think anything of it until several minutes pass without him coming back. Jean seems to be the only one aware of Jeremy's absence and keeps twisting around to glance at the door. When he gets up, moving silently so as not to draw attention to himself, Neil decides to follow him out into the corridor to check on Jeremy and Jean nods slightly in acknowledgement.

“Jeremy?”

Jean keeps his voice low and knocks once on the bathroom door.

“I'm okay!” Jeremy calls from inside. There's a somewhat hysterical edge to his voice and Jean turns to Neil with an unimpressed face.

“He's not okay,” he mutters, one eyebrow twitching in annoyance. Then, louder, he says: “Jeremy, let us in.”

There is the click of a lock and then the door swings open to admit a sheepish looking Jeremy, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he says, his gaze on the floor.

“You are an idiot,” Jean tells him. He puts a hand flat on Jeremy's chest and pushes him back into the bathroom, then motions for Neil to follow and closes the door behind them before sitting Jeremy down on the rug.

“I told you this would happen.”

“I know.”

“He doesn't have the stomach for horror movies,” Jean tells Neil. He looks and sounds irritated but all the while his hand is rubbing soothing circles on Jeremy's back. Jeremy shudders a bit and takes a deep breath, running both of his hands through his thick, curly hair.

“What can I do?” Neil says, crouching down next to them.

“Just sit with him,” Jean says. “I will make some hot milk with honey.”

Jeremy laughs a little bit but doesn't protest as Jean gets up and slips out of the room. He leans against the bathtub, hugs his knees to his chest and rests his forehead against the denim of his jeans with a sigh.

“I'm pathetic,” he says into the tinny silence of the bathroom. His voice is muffled when he says, “Don't know what he sees in me, really.”

“Jean? Is he your boyfriend?” Neil asks, thinking of Jeremy and Jean dancing together at Nicky's party and the way they're always together, even when they're at opposite ends of a room.

“God, I hope so,” Jeremy says and makes a sound like a crossover between a laugh and a sob. “It's complicated.”

“Sorry,” Neil mumbles, not sure what else to say.

“That's alright,” Jeremy says, sitting up. He pulls on his hair, wipes his palms over his face and takes another deep breath. Neil blinks once and his customary grin is back in place. “We'll figure it out.”

“Why don't you tell Allison that you don't like horror movies?” Neil asks.

Jeremy pulls a face.

“Because I have terrible social anxiety and criticising anyone ever, even just for their taste in movies, is really hard?” he says fake-cheerfully, holding up his hands and wiggling all of his fingers like he's presenting a magic trick. Neil gapes a little – he can't help it. Fun, confident, loud, kind, _bright_ Jeremy Knox? Anxiety? It doesn't make sense.

“How,” Neil croaks. Jeremy looks at him and laughs again.

“I don't know man,” he says good-naturedly. “Let me or my therapist know if you find out. I'll be in the bathroom hiding from my friends for no good reason and waiting for my maybe-boyfriend to bring me warm milk with honey. That's what my mom always does when someone's having a bad day.”

“I,” Neil says and swallows. “Before I met Nicky... I barely left the house for seven years.”

Jeremy blinks at him, then he lets out a low whistle and nudges Neil with his elbow.

“That's tough, man. Hey, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here now.”

“Thanks,” Neil whispers, feeling his face heat.

“Do you want a hug?” Jeremy says. “I'm good at giving hugs, or so I've been told. I mean, I wouldn't know – I might be so bad at giving hugs that no one has the heart to tell me, but then again Alvarez is usually pretty brutal when it comes to stuff like that, so I doubt she was lying just to spare my feelings.”

“I'll take the risk,” Neil says.

Jeremy grins and pulls him in with one arm, then wraps the other one snugly around him when Neil's face is safely settled on his shoulder.

It is a pretty good hug.

It's also a pretty long hug. Jeremy doesn't let go until a small snort announces Jean's return. Jean prods Jeremy with his foot, three mugs balanced in his hands and an Aero bar clamped between his teeth that he drops in Jeremy's lap once he's distributed the mugs. Neil isn't very fond of hot milk but politely takes a sip anyway. It's very sweet.

“Did you hug it out?” Jean asks Jeremy, squinting over the rim of his mug. His fingers are long and bony, curled delicately around the handle, his nails clacking impatiently against the porcelain. Jean is made up of these tiny movements and sounds: huffs and snorts, snapping fingers, an eyeroll, the click of his tongue and the stubborn sideways pull of his mouth when he's trying not to laugh. Neil is startled to realise that he's familiar with them by now.

“Yes,” Jeremy smiles. “Neil's a great hugger, did you know?”

“Is he now,” Jean says archly.

“You should try it some time,” Jeremy nods, grinning.

“I think I'm done hugging for today, actually,” Neil says at the same time as the bathroom door opens and Andrew sticks his head in with a scowl. Behind him Kevin's expression morphs from concern to confusion as he takes in the scene.

“We'll be right out,” Jeremy tells them pleasantly. “Just finishing up our drinks.”

“I gotta piss,” Andrew tells them bluntly and points at the toilet. “You can either stay or go. Your call.”

They all scramble to their feet and file out behind Andrew. Kevin hastens to close the door, then he tugs on Neil's sleeve before he can follow Jeremy and Jean back into the living room.

“What was that?” he whispers, looking oddly upset.

“We were just talking,” Neil says.

“Oh,” Kevin whispers. “Okay. Right.”

He looks after Jeremy and Jean, chewing on his lip. Neil thinks back to Nicky's party again and some of the things Andrew has said, and before he can stop himself he asks:

“Are you in love with him?”

Kevin's head whips around to stare at him, aghast.

“What?”

“I asked if you're in love with Jeremy,” Neil says calmly. “It's just, you're acting weird, and he's... you know. Nice. Handsome. Not like Riko.”

He shrugs. Kevin seems temporarily at a loss for words, and then the toilet flushes and the sound of the sink cuts off and Andrew comes back out of the bathroom.

“Well, this is cosy,” he says, pushing past them. “Should we start looking for hickeys every time you two go off somewhere alone?”

“Kevin,” Neil says. “He's with Jean -”

“I know,” Kevin moans, eyes flickering back and forth between Neil and Andrew. “Can we not talk about that here? There's nothing to say. Jean and I, we – but it doesn't matter, it was a long time ago. I'm just being silly.”

Andrew raises first one, then both eyebrows, then he says, “I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Are you drinking that?”

He points at Neil's mug. Neil shakes his head and lets him have it. Andrew toasts them with the mug and goes back to the living room, and Kevin and Neil follow after another moment of awkward silence.

*

Allison's parents must be richer than Jeremy's parents, the Wesninskis and the Hatfords put together. Where Stuart's wealth is minimalist and more visible in the quality of his suits and the fact that nothing in his household is ever older than a couple of years, the Reynolds are on the other end of that spectrum – extravagant and demonstrative, lavish, careless and splurging; too sure in their money to worry about spending it. It's Allison's big three-oh, and so she's insisting on celebrating it in style at one of the Reynolds' mansions despite her rocky relationship with her parents. Neil wonders if they're just too used to giving their daughter whatever she asks for or if they're even aware of the location she's chosen for her party – in any case, neither of them seem to be present for the event.

The fancy location aside, Allison's chosen the dress code for the evening to be tracksuits.

[Neil puts on the one](http://blog.sight-management.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/MensFashion_Feb19_2016_1522.jpeg) that Allison had delivered right to his doorstep with a charming note that she would personally kick him out if he dared to show up at her party in one of his ratty old pairs of sweatpants. This one is new and expensive and Neil had a little panic after it came out of the laundry all creased – thank god for Thea's cool head and Stuart's flat iron – but he has to admit that it looks nice and feels more comfortable than he expected. It's soft and deep blue, with a whimsical print of leaves and birds on the fabric that reminds Neil a bit of Renee's tattoos.

Thea drives him to the party, stopping on the way to pick up Kevin because his dad needs the car tonight. Neil sees the way Kevin's ears go bright pink when he catches sight of Thea in her pretty green hijab and her nice wraparound dress and makes sure to stick his tongue out at him in the rearview mirror. Kevin rolls his eyes and grins and proceeds to throw out the full force of his charm for the entire car ride. Neil is comforted to see that Thea remains cheerfully immune to it, though she gives him a meaningful look when they get out of the car.

“You should let me drive your friends more often,” she says as Neil leans down to say goodbye through the open window. “Are all of them so handsome and polite?”

Neil snorts.

“Kevin isn't handsome or polite,” he says. “Please don't date him.”

Thea winks and starts rolling up the window.

“Have fun, pumpkin. Don't get _too_ drunk and raucous.”

“You know me,” Neil grins, saluting. “Always the drunkest and most raucous of the lot.”

She laughs and pulls out of the driveway with a satisfying crunch of gravel. Kevin calls for him to hurry up and Neil scrambles to follow him inside, not wanting to be separated when he doesn't know his way around yet.

Two hours later and Neil has to accept the fact that he will probably never know his way around this place. The mansion is huge and sprawling, not to mention the grounds – a rose garden that looks like it came right out of a fairy tale, two large swimming pools with collapsible rooftops like two sleek blue convertible cars parked side by side, a massive fountain with a statue of a fat cherub shooting water from the tip of an arrow, a huge tennis court, and a patio that wraps around the entire back of the house. Several balconies are attached to the higher floors and there's a gym in the basement as well as a fully stocked wine cellar.

“Neil!” Allison shouts, snapping her fingers at him and motioning for him to join her where she and some of the other girls are clustered together on deck chairs. She's wearing a pair of shimmery golden sweatpants with a bikini top and a matching golden jacket, her feet bare and her hair in several long braids courtesy of Renee. There's a cocktail in her left hand and her pink phone is lying beside her.

“Baby, you look lost. Come and join our gossip circle, we need fresh meat.”

“I don't have any gossip,” Neil says, nonplussed, but sits down on the edge of her chair when she pats it insistently. She finishes typing something on her phone and hands it over to Renee, who smiles and turns it off.

“Everyone has gossip,” Dan says, sipping on her drink and massaging Katelyn's feet in her lap. Marissa is sharing a deck chair with Katelyn and Alvarez is sitting cross-legged on the one on Allison's other side, giggling at her phone and humming along to the Phil Collins song that drifts over from the patio.

“Did Nicky dick around with the playlist again?” Allison grumbles. She lifts a hand and strokes her fingers through Neil's hair, playing with the curls. “Hey, handsome. You look snazzy in my tracksuit. I did good.”

“Has anyone chatted you up yet?” Katelyn grins, waggling her eyebrows. “I'd do it, but I can barely move as is.”

She rubs a hand over her huge belly and groans when Dan gently massages around her ankles.

“That's what you get for getting knocked up,” Allison hums, slurping loudly on her drink. Renee tugs reproachfully on one of her braids and she shrugs. “What? If you're not even prepared to deal with a pregnancy, you shouldn't be having children in the first place.”

“That doesn't mean it's not stressful,” Renee chides softly. “ _And_ she's having twins. Neil, Andrew was looking for you earlier.”

“Oh?” Neil says, trying not to look too pleased or hopeful at the mention. He must still be too obvious though, because Renee smiles her knowing, impish smile and Marissa squeals and slaps her hands over her mouth.

“What what what,” Allison demands, “I need to know what this is about. Neil and Andrew?”

“It's nothing,” Neil insists quickly.

“Neil was totally checking him out at Nicky's party,” Marissa says. Neil can feel his face heat up and ducks his head down to hide it, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“I just think he's pretty, is all,” he mumbles.

“Bless,” Alvarez sighs. “Isn't he cute?”

“Oh my god, Dan,” Katelyn says, peering over Dan's shoulder. “Is Matt sexting you? That's naughty.”

There is a small commotion as Allison, Marissa and Alvarez all try to get at Dan's phone. Katelyn winks conspiratorially at Neil and he nods back, grateful for the distraction.

“Fucking hell,” Allison says as yet another Backstreet Boys song starts playing. She turns to the patio and yells Nicky's name so loudly Neil thinks the entire neighbourhood must have heard, but Nicky only laughs and waves from where he's bent low over a foosball table with Matt, Aaron, Kevin and Seth.

“Okay, let's play a game with Neil,” Alvarez decides, snapping her phone shut and knocking back the rest of her beer. “Fuck, marry, kill...”

“Andrew, Aaron, Kevin,” Allison says immediately. They all look expectantly at Neil, who wishes he could retreat into his fancy tracksuit like a snail into its shell.

“I don't want to do any of those things...”

“Boring,” Alvarez huffs. “You _have_ to decide.”

Neil just shakes his head, so Renee speaks up.

“How about a different version of the game? We can come up with alternative choices. So for example: go on a date, rob a bank, sing karaoke with.”

“Okay,” Neil says gratefully, a little knot loosening in his chest. “I'd rob a bank with Kevin, because he's obsessive and perfectionist and we'd probably get away with it. I heard Aaron sing when he got drunk at Nicky's party so I choose him for karaoke because he'd eclipse even me by how awful he is. And, um, go on a date with Andrew, I guess.”

There's a round of appreciative hums and then the others pick up on Renee's idea and give Neil a couple of different prompts and names, some more ridiculous and some less, and after a while Neil thinks he might actually be having fun despite being in the centre of attention for so long.

“Alright, alright,” Allison announces, pulling herself up to sit next to Neil and putting her arm around him. “We've eased you into it, now let's get to the saucy stuff. It's my birthday and I make the rules. Let's see. Hide a body with, only listen to music that they pick for you for the rest of your life, and lose your virginity to again.”

“Again?” Neil asks.

“Yes, assuming you could like, go back in time to when you were – wait, shit, are you still a virgin?”

Neil presses his lips together and doesn't say anything, which is basically a confirmation, and Allison throws her head back and lets out an unholy shriek of laughter before squeezing her arm tighter around him and pressing a sloppy kiss to his temple.

“Sorry, baby, ignore me, I'm drunk and awful. Let's strike that 'again'. Your choices are: Matt, Renee and Andrew. Go.”

Neil mumbles something indistinct and Allison prods and cajoles until he says: “Okay, fine, hide a body with Renee, listen to Matt's music, and...”

There is a small, conspiratorial silence before Allison finishes for him: “And lose your virginity to Andrew. Thank you for that birthday present, Neil, you're a gem.”

She kisses his cheek this time and the others giggle. Katelyn and Marissa try to get Dan to make Matt bring them more drinks and Alvarez is distracted by a call from her girlfriend, who is apparently supervising a drunk Jeremy in one of the bathrooms. Neil lets Allison pull his head down on her shoulder and is trying not to think too much about Andrew when Andrew himself appears at the edge of the lawn and comes over.

“Andrew!” Allison exclaims gleefully before Neil can stop her. “Guess what! You just won the jackpot! Neil here has a very precious gift for you.”

“Allison,” Neil pleads, burying his face in his hands.

“Shh,” Allison whispers, stroking his hair. “Shh, baby, I'm just helping you out.”

She beckons Andrew closer and he sits down on Renee's chair with some difficulty, dropping his cane in the grass. Allison leans over until her mouth is next to his ear and stage-whispers: “Neil wants you to have his V-card,” before swaying back and thumping both of her hands on Neil's shoulders like he's a boxer and she's his coach.

“I didn't say that,” he mumbles. “It was just a stupid game.”

Andrew looks from Allison to Neil to Renee, his face unreadable. Renee smiles and shakes her head a little, and Andrew grabs his cane and gets up again.

“Come on,” he tells Neil. Even his voice is inscrutable. “Let's get you out of this snake pit before they devour you whole.”

“Because _he_ wants to devour you whole,” Alvarez smirks. “He wants you all to himself.”

“Go get it, Neil!”

Allison wolf-whistles and flops back in her chair, nudging Neil with her foot, and Neil stands up uncomfortably and shuffles after Andrew who is leading them back into the house.

“Andrew,” he feels compelled to say, “I'm sorry, they were just – being silly...”

“Were they?” Andrew says, bored. “I didn't notice.”

He stops briefly at the bottom of a staircase, sighs and grips his cane tighter before going up. His leg doesn't seem to want to cooperate very well today and it's a slow ascent, but Neil follows without saying anything, until they reach the first landing and Andrew walks down a hallway lined with doors. He chooses one at random, pushes it open and waits for Neil to go through.

The room beyond the door looks more like a hotel suite than a guest bedroom. Small winged lampshades to the left and right of the bed cast diamond patterns of light on the wall, there's a mound of plush pillows arranged at the head of the bed and something that looks like a mini bar in the corner. A door leads to an ensuite bathroom with seagreen tiles, fresh towels lined up along the wall, and a claw-footed bathtub that takes up almost the entire space.

“Um,” Neil says, hysteria coiled tight like a spring in his throat, but Andrew isn't aiming for the bed. He's tugged the curtains open to reveal a glass sliding door that leads out onto one of the balconies Neil has seen from below. Relieved, Neil follows Andrew outside and gingerly perches on one of the two chairs as Andrew throws himself down on the other one and takes out a packet of cigarettes.

“Want one?” Andrew asks, holding them out. Neil takes one but doesn't light it, feeling its weight and shape in his fingers and thinking of his mother.

Andrew inhales deeply from his own and holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment before releasing it into the warm night air. Their balcony is partly hidden behind a large pine tree but they can still look out over the rose garden and the swimming pools, and the faint, sticky remnants of music are drifting up on the breeze. Neil recognises a Panic! At The Disco song – “Nine In The Afternoon,” probably – and breathes in the scent of the dry pine needles, startling when Andrew tosses his lighter in his lap.

“You just going to stare at it all night?”

“Does that bother you?” Neil smiles.

“Waste of a perfectly good cigarette,” Andrew says, rolling his eyes.

“More like the opposite,” Neil points out, grinning and holding up his unlit cigarette. “Why were you looking for me earlier?”

Andrew shrugs.

“No reason,” he murmurs, leaning back in his chair and blowing out a thin, measured stream of smoke. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and Neil can't look away. “I was bored. You have a habit of being marginally more entertaining than my family.”

“Do I?” Neil says. “How so?”

Andrew points at him with the hand that holds his cigarette and coughs a bit on the next exhale.

“That tracksuit, for one,” he says. “Are you impersonating a peacock or were you hoping to attract songbirds?”

“Allison bought it for me,” Neil says sheepishly, looking down at himself.

“More like designed and made it for you. Did you not know she was a contestant on Project Runway once?”

“What,” Neil gapes, “Allison? You're fucking with me.”

Andrew laughs and finishes his cigarette before stubbing it out. He reaches over and takes the one Neil is still playing with, slides it back into the package and tucks that away.

“Heidi Klum didn't like her attitude but she got as far as the final three,” Andrew says. “Nicky's got the entire season on DVD, you can borrow it from him if you don't believe me.”

“And she made this?” Neil asks weakly, plucking at the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Does it have a tag?”

“Uh, yeah. Just a big A, I think.”

“There you go,” Andrew says. He reaches out and takes the hem of Neil's shirt between two fingers, tugging a little, and Neil feels hot up to his armpits even though Andrew isn't even touching him.

“Um,” Neil says. His voice drops to a husky whisper all on its own. “What Allison said down there...”

“Yes?” Andrew prompts when Neil runs out of words. Neil clears his throat and leans the side of his burning face against the cool backrest of his chair. Maybe he should have brought a drink with him to make this easier.

“I don't really,” he starts, stops again. “I don't know.”

“Fascinating,” Andrew murmurs.

“I've never, um, slept with anyone,” Neil says on the rush of an exhale. “I've never wanted to. Only in a sort of abstract way like – I don't know. There's always this disconnect. I like looking at people and I like kissing people and, but there's never been anyone I wanted – I mean, I'd like to try it, I guess? Some day? But I don't know how, like, obviously I know _how_ but, I don't know how it happens, you know? How do you just. Sleep with someone. Where do you start.”

He knows he's doing a really bad job of explaining this and for a moment he has to close his eyes and _breathe_ , because he can feel the skin on his head prickle with the memory of his mother pulling his hair and telling him to stay away from girls. He fights down the phantom pain of kissing Kevin on the old mattress on the floor next to Kevin's bed with the TV on mute and having to agree afterwards that they were better off as friends. When he opens his eyes again Andrew is staring at him.

“Usually you start by asking the person if they want to sleep with you,” Andrew says with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but,” Neil says, swallowing. “How do you know when to ask? How do you go from this–” he gestures at the party still going on downstairs – “To this?” He points at the bedroom beyond the sliding door and lets his hand fall back in his lap. “I don't get it.”

Andrew sighs. They're sitting close enough that Neil can feel the huff of air on his face, smell the cigarette smoke and the sweetness of his last drink on his breath.

“Go swimming with me,” he says abruptly.

“What?”

“When they're all gone,” Andrew says, flicking his hand towards the garden. “I want to go swimming. The pools are shallow enough to stand in. I'll trade you your scars for something.”

Neil shivers despite feeling flushed and hot all over.

“Trade me,” he repeats, feeling out the words in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Andrew says. “What do you want for them?”

Neil sucks his lower lip between his teeth and thinks. The light from the room behind them melts a thin path through the gap in the curtains and illuminates half of Andrew's face. His eyes look distantly metallic, like a spill of coins at the bottom of a fountain, challenging him to make a wish.

“Can you dye my hair?”

Andrew looks at him for long moment and then nods.

“What colour?”

“I don't care,” Neil says, his lips quirking up in a half-moon smile. “You choose.”

Andrew snags one of Neil's auburn curls and pulls at it. Another shiver trips down Neil's spine at the contact and he closes his eyes.

“What if I choose bright orange?”

“Very cheerful,” Neil hums. “I like it.”

“No wonder your fashion sense is so terrible.”

“Excuse you,” Neil grins, “I'm wearing an Allison Reynolds designer tracksuit, thank you very much.”

“My point exactly,” Andrew grumbles.

They stay on the balcony until the grounds start to empty. Neil ventures downstairs only once to fetch them some of the non-alcoholic strawberry punch Renee made and a miraculously untouched bag of chips, relieved when he doesn't run into anyone he knows. Then he curls back up on his chair next to Andrew, in their little pocket of privacy, and tells him stories of Kevin at school, carefully leaving out the uglier details and anything relating to his father. He's absent-mindedly licking salt and grease off his fingers until Andrew slaps his hand away from his mouth and tells him he's being gross. They finish the chips between them and Andrew tells him about his new job as a librarian at a small shabby children's library on the edge of town. He's only filling in for someone on maternity leave but he's hoping they will keep him on after that since one of his older colleagues is looking to go into retirement soon, and Neil likes the mental image of Andrew as a librarian, reading Harry Potter to a circle of adoring kids.

It's nearing four in the morning when the music finally turns off downstairs. The porch light stays on but there are no more voices to be heard and when Neil checks over the railing everyone seems to have either left or retired inside to one of the guest rooms.

Andrew grabs two towels and they make their way downstairs, passing a few people snoring on couches. Being the last ones awake makes Neil's stomach spark with a secret little thrill. It's warmer outside than in the house, yet Neil shivers a little when they cross through the garden to the pools. They've been covered, but there are doors on the sides of the collapsible rooftops and they slip through unnoticed, leaving their towels by the edge of the pool.

“Are you going to have another panic attack?” Andrew asks him, peering down at the smooth jewel-bright water. It's not very deep, enough to swim in but not so much that Neil's feet won't touch the ground.

“I'll be okay, I think,” Neil says. “Just don't throw me in or push me under.”

Andrew nods and starts taking off his clothes. Neil thinks he might be staring – it's hard to tell at this point; he's beyond tired and it's hard to even move his head. With a hum Andrew steps out of his sweatpants and underwear, looking soft in the wet light coming from the lamps that are set into the pool basin. The reflections of the water make it look like the colours of his tattoos are bleeding together, and there's a small grey raincloud inked on his hipbone that Neil hasn't noticed on him before, but which he's pretty sure he's seen mirrored on Aaron's wrist.

“Did Renee do all of them?” he asks.

“Yes,” Andrew says, tapping his middle finger on the little cloud. “Are you coming?”

He lowers himself into the water without waiting for Neil and turns on his back, floating with his arms outstretched, illuminated from underneath. His light blond pubic hair turns dark in the water. Neil swallows and takes off his own pants, briefly hesitating before he slides his top off as well. Andrew has his eyes closed and Neil breathes a quiet sigh of relief and climbs into the pool, clinging to the ladder as the water laps at the goosebumps on his skin.

His feet find the ground and he lets himself just stand there for a while, getting used to the feeling. The only noises are the occasional splashes when Andrew moves his legs to keep afloat and the distant hum of traffic. There's only them, enclosed in the protective bubble of the collapsible roof and the pool lights, and Neil starts to relax into the water and enjoy the freedom of being naked without a purpose.

Slowly Neil relinquishes his hold on the ladder and half walks, half paddles himself over to Andrew.

“Hi,” he breathes, kicking his legs and coughing a bit when the water splashes up over his mouth.

“Alright?” Andrew grunts, cracking open one eye. “Look at you. It's like someone let a dog into the pool.”

“Shut up,” Neil grins and lets his feet sink back down to the bottom so he can stand. Andrew twists around and swims past him, fast and graceful in the water where he's slow and immovable on land. Neil flicks a little bit of water at him and laughs when Andrew ducks under to avoid it.

“I'm disappointed,” Andrew says, coming up again behind Neil's back. “No mole in the shape of Donald Trump's hair.”

“Maybe you just haven't looked in the right place yet,” Neil teases and promptly feels himself flush. Andrew merely quirks an eyebrow and dives underwater again, crossing the pool with a few hard strokes.

Neil splashes about by himself for a bit until he gets too cold and pulls himself back out. He wraps a towel around himself and sits cross-legged on the edge of the pool, watching Andrew swim back and forth, back and forth.

“Have you decided on a colour yet? For my hair?” Neil asks, trailing his fingers through the water.

Andrew swims over to where Neil is sitting and pretends to think about it.

“Purple,” he says. Neil laughs and flicks water at him again, and Andrew catches his fingers and brings them up to his face to inspect them.

“You chew your nails,” he remarks, squinting. “How unattractive.”

Neil sticks his tongue out at him and pulls his hand back. Andrew makes a grab for it again, cradling it against his wet chest.

“I wasn't done.”

“What could you possibly want with my hand?” Neil asks, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Andrew says, smirking, “I can think of a great many fun things that you can do with a hand.”

Like an idiot, Neil says: “And what's that?”

“I'd have to show you,” Andrew says, smirking wider, and Neil is abruptly aware that Andrew is still holding his hand. There's an odd little silence between them, like velvet brushed the wrong way, and then Andrew grimaces a bit and mutters, “That's how it usually happens. Going from this,” he clarifies, waggling his fingers first at the pool and then towards the house, “To that. But you really are immune to flirting, huh?”

“I – oh,” Neil says, going hot again and sinking back into his towel. “Sorry. I mean...”

“I got it,” Andrew says and relinquishes his hand. “Keep your V-card. Virginity is a dumb social construct anyway. You don't have to sleep with anyone if you don't want to.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Neil didn't mean to say it, but now that it's out, he's almost relieved. Andrew looks at him, bobbing a little in the water, then pulls himself flush to the edge of the pool where Neil sits.

“Yes,” he says, “that works.”

They stare at each other for a bit longer and then both decide to lean in at the same time. Neil pulls back at the last moment to avoid a forehead collision and feels a tiny bit of soapy laughter bubble and froth in his throat. Andrew's mouth is on his before it can escape, and the feeling retreats back to his stomach in a swirl of nervous longing. He shivers in his towel. Andrew kisses like he does everything else: with a calm, steady intensity, skilful and slow, casual and focused at the same time. He licks into Neil's mouth, holding his jaw with the tips of two wet fingers, and Neil is glad that he's sitting because he's pretty sure his knees just stopped working.

When they pull apart, Neil's breathing is tousled and trembly and he needs a few moments to figure out where his limbs are and how to get his mouth to do anything other than pine after Andrew's.

He clears his throat.

“What if I did want to sleep with someone?” he asks timidly, feeling like his stomach is full of fire ants and his chest alive with glow worms. He swallows and corrects that to: “With you?”

“Then I'm still flirting,” Andrew grins, and pulls himself up on the edge of the pool.

*

The next morning Neil wakes up to an empty bed and an overcast sky.

The room feels muggy despite the open window and thunder is rumbling in the distance, the pine tree outside bending in a sudden gust of wind. Neil sits up and rubs at his eyes. He's wearing Andrew's Placebo t-shirt and nothing else, the bed still smells faintly like chlorine and cigarettes, and their towels are crumpled in a heap on the floor next to Neil's tracksuit and an empty condom wrapper.

He listens for any sound from within the bathroom, but there is none.

With a sigh he flops back into the pillows and stares at the ceiling for a bit. Then he forces himself to get up and runs himself a bath in the fancy bathtub, picking up an expensive jar of orange blossom scented bath salts and a fresh towel, and submerges himself for half an hour in hot water and bubbles and steam until his brain feels like it's booting up again.

There are toothbrushes in the cabinet above the sink so he makes use of that and then goes back into the bedroom to get dressed. He disposes of the condom wrapper and pushes away all thoughts of Andrew's hot mouth. Rain taps against the window and washes away the last remnants of cigarette ash on the balcony. Neil closes the sliding doors, makes the bed, folds the used towels on a chair, and when nothing else remains to be done he takes out his phone and switches it on.

There's no message from Andrew. He doesn't know why he thought there would be. There is, however, an offer of brunch from Matt and Dan, and Neil tells them he'll meet them downstairs in a few minutes before picking himself up and sweeping the room with one last glance.

By some lucky coincidence he finds his way to an empty kitchen. There's a cupboard full of expensive tea, coffee and hot chocolate and he picks out a light jasmine green tea and boils some water in a sleek black kettle. The rain has turned into a persistent downpour, hissing at the windows and clacking against the tiles of the patio like impatient heels. Neil holds his mug close to his face and inhales the fragrant steam, closing his eyes and taking another moment to tuck away the overspill of wayward memories from last night.

“Morning,” someone groans. Neil opens his eyes to find Kevin leaning against the doorframe, barely stifling a jaw-cracking yawn behind his hand.

“Hey,” Neil says and shuffles over to make space at the counter. “Have you seen any of the others?”

Kevin yawns again, shakes his head and squints at the coffee machine for a few minutes before grabbing a mug and the box of jasmine tea that's still open beside the kettle.

“Thought you weren't staying over,” Kevin mumbles sleepily, staring at the loose tea leaves swirling around in his mug like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Neil wordlessly picks up a small strainer and holds it out to him. He's not in the mood to talk about Andrew or anything that happened between them last night – or the fact that Andrew doesn't seem to be here anymore.

Dan sticks her head in as Kevin is in the process of trying to clumsily fish the tea leaves out of his mug with the strainer. She looks a little bleary-eyed but otherwise fine, hands Kevin a new mug with a click of her tongue, and manages not to say anything too damning about Andrew and Neil in front of Kevin until they're sitting in Matt's truck, all three of them soaked from the short walk to the car.

“So,” she says, smirking over her shoulder as Neil tries to sink into the back seat. An Alt-J song is crooning from the speakers at low volume. “We didn't see you anymore after Andrew kidnapped you. Did he leave you in one piece?”

“I'm fine,” Neil croaks, keeping his gaze fixed on a point beyond the window.

“Mhmm,” Dan hums, “I should hope so. Or else I'd have to punch Andrew in his pretty face.”

Neil doesn't say anything. It's only a short drive to the next IHOP and Matt parks them as close to the door as possible, though they still make a mad dash for it with their jackets held above their heads. Inside they are enveloped in a cloud of warm, steamy air and the sweet smell of breakfast foods. They sit down at a table by the window and Dan and Matt keep to small talk until they've placed their orders and received their drinks.

“Hey,” Matt says when the waitress is gone. Neil looks up from his orange juice that he suddenly doesn't want anymore and has trouble meeting Matt's eyes. “Are you okay? Really?”

He swallows.

“I'm fine,” he says, though even he has to admit that it comes out somewhat shaky.

Dan's face goes soft and sad and she reaches across the table to cover his hand with hers.

“I'm sorry, hon,” she sighs. “Andrew doesn't really do relationships or morning afters. We had a feeling something like this might have happened. It was the same with Kevin a couple years ago...”

“Kevin?” Neil says, choking a bit on his juice.

“Yep,” Matt grins. “You didn't know? He had a bit of a thing for Andrew in the beginning. Andrew slept with him, then decided he wasn't interested anymore, and Kevin spent a few weeks pining until we took him out to get really grossly drunk and talked some sense into him.”

“Great,” Neil says weakly, burying his face in his hands. “Can we do that tonight so I don't have to waste my time with the pining?”

“I thought you didn't drink,” Matt says gently.

“I don't,” Neil agrees. “Sounds like I need to make an exception.”

“That bad, huh?” Dan asks. Neil makes an indistinct sound and is grateful for the reappearance of the waitress with their food. He only picks at his eggs and barely contributes anything to the idle conversation that Matt and Dan keep up, though he appreciates the distraction of listening to what they have to say. The rain has cleared up again by the time they're done and Matt offers to drive Neil home, bundling him back into his truck with his jacket around Neil's shoulders because it's suddenly chillier than before, or maybe Neil's just too drained to regulate his body temperature.

“Keep your head up, champ,” Matt tells him in parting. “Things will turn out alright.”

“Take care of yourself,” Dan says.

“Thanks,” Neil says, handing Matt's jacket back through the window of his truck. “You too.”

The first thing he does when he gets home is sleep. He strips down to Andrew's t-shirt again, puts in his earphones and buries himself under the covers of his own bed, listening to “Stop Crying Your Heart Out” on repeat and feeling sorry for himself until he drifts away.

He wakes up again around five, groggy and sore, a crick in his neck and his stomach cramping with hunger. Stuart isn't home, but three cats pad after him into the kitchen and yowl at him while he makes himself a sandwich until he feeds them too. His phone is still stubbornly devoid of messages and Neil pulls up Andrew's number and types out a few aborted tries before putting it away again and eating his sandwich in front of the TV, watching an old season of _Doctor Who_ that Stuart has on DVD.

When Stuart still isn't home at eight, Neil orders a pizza online and has to go into Stuart's office to look for his credit card because he doesn't have enough cash left. He's rummaging around the desk when his eyes catch on a small stack of papers and the name written at the top of what seems to be a business contract between Stuart Hatford and Nicky Hemmick.

Curious, Neil picks it up.

He forgets about his pizza after the first few paragraphs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Shh shh I'm sorry I promise there will be a happy end


	6. Chapter Five: The Time Is Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are worked out, a new generation of Minyard twins is born, and the boys go dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we have reached the last chapter again already, wow! I just wanna say a big fat thank you again to all the people who helped make this fic happen, first and foremost my betas and Janie for holding me through grammatical emergencies, but of course also to all you lovely people who left comments and sent me sweet messages. I thought this fic was going to be a niche thing that only a handful of people were going to enjoy, but it seems I'm not alone in just wanting those Foxes to be Soft and Happy sometimes! Lastly, to everyone who told me about relating to Neil and his anxiety: I feel you, and also your anxiety is probably a filthy liar because you're awesome, sorry I don't make the rules. :)
> 
> Edit: Someone kindly let me know that I should mention that his chapter contains a scene in the hospital after Katelyn gives birth, in case that makes anyone uncomfortable!
> 
> Chapter playlist:  
> [Gorillaz - Andromeda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9W44NWYwa1g)  
> [No Doubt – Don't Speak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TR3Vdo5etCQ)  
> [Parov Stelar – Booty Swing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eco4z98nIQY)  
> [Moloko – Familiar Feeling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHyiGvlBcB4)  
> [Caro Emerald – A Night Like This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74LXx0wSqMI)  
> [New Radicals – You Get What You Give](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DL7-CKirWZE)  
> [The Fugees – Killing Me Softly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKOtzIo-uYw)

“Nathaniel.”

“Go away.”

“Nathaniel, please. Open the door.”

 _Thump_.

There's a sigh and then the clatter of cutlery as Stuart puts food down outside his door. Neil vaguely regrets throwing his last pillow at it, but at least Stuart is leaving so he can go back to hating himself in peace.

It's been four days since Allison's party and Neil hasn't spoken to any of them. He didn't turn his phone off, taking a twisted pleasure in watching the various text messages pop up over time and then not responding to them, though he isn't sure if he's punishing himself or the others. He doesn't want to talk to them, least of all Nicky, who is always the most insistent about drawing Neil out of his self-imposed exiles – Neil knows why now, of course, and only feels vaguely guilty about ignoring Matt and Dan as well, who are worried about him after their last conversation.

At least Andrew has spared him the humiliation of trying to get in touch.

Neil sighs, gives up his quest for a more comfortable position and crawls out of bed to pick up his pillow and check what Stuart's left for him outside. It's a tray filled with some of his favourite foods – mango chicken with rice from the Thai restaurant Stuart sometimes gets take-out from, a big bowl of cut up fruit, a slice of blueberry pie and a large cup of tea. Neil doesn't know when Stuart started paying such close attention to his eating habits and feels a little bit guilty before reminding himself that this whole mess is Stuart's fault in the first place.

He takes the bowl of fruit and shuts the door on the rest.

*

“Neil. It's Thea. Open the door or I'll kick it down myself, you have five seconds.”

Neil winces. It takes him a bit more than five seconds to peel himself out of his blanket nest and he nearly trips over himself on the way to the door. He regrets not putting on a fresh shirt and tidying away the worst of the mess when Thea bulls right past him and yanks open the window with a disgusted noise. It's not _that_ bad, he thinks, but he has to admit the fresh air is still welcome.

“So Stuart told me what happened,” Thea says, arms crossed in front of her chest as she kicks a pile of discarded clothes out of the way. “What he did wasn't okay, but you've been sulking in here for a week now. Don't you think it's time you talked to him, or your friends for that matter?”

Neil grimaces and sinks back down on his bed. He can still hear the muffled sounds of the Gorillaz' new _Humanz_ album playing through his earphones and reaches over to turn it off and pause the cat video he was watching on his laptop.

“They're not my friends,” he says. His voice sounds dusty with disuse.

“What makes you so sure about that?” Thea asks. “Have you asked them?”

“No,” Neil mumbles, picking at the edge of his comforter. “But...”

“But?” Thea prompts. She moves a sleeping Jaffa from Neil's desk chair and sits down, legs crossed at the ankle. “Have you ever thought about why that contract was on Stuart's desk last week?”

Neil frowns and shakes his head.

“Nicky wanted to annul it,” Thea goes on. “Stuart was going to draw up the appropriate paperwork but got distracted. You know how he is.”

“So?” Neil shrugs. “That just goes to show that they finally got bored of me.”

“Nathaniel,” Thea says. Hearing her use the name is more of a slap in the face than her sharp tone and it rings in his ears like the gunshot that has been echoing in his head for the last seven years. “Is your head really so far up your miserable ass that you honestly believe that? Nicky wanted to annul the contract because _you're his friend_. He doesn't need to get paid for that. He even tried to return some of the money but Stuart wouldn't let him.”

Neil shifts uncomfortably on the bed and tries to blink away the dry, burning feeling in his eyes.

“It's fine,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Thea. “It's – I don't need – I'm fine here. They don't... they don't really need me.”

“Tough,” Thea says. “They want you anyway. Now go and make yourself a bit more presentable, you have guests in the kitchen.”

She stands up and Neil feels his heartbeat trip up in his chest. Thea sees his panicked look and shoots him a stern glare in response.

“Up,” she commands. Neil hangs his head and obeys.

Thea goes to join whoever's in the kitchen and Neil locks himself in the bathroom and takes off his shirt with shaking hands. He doesn't want to look at his scars today so he keeps his eyes fixed on the sink as he wipes a wet soapy washcloth over his neck and chest and under his armpits. He splashes his face with cold water and puts on the fresh shirt he grabbed on his way out, realising too late that it's Andrew's Placebo t-shirt; the one he still hasn't returned, though it's been washed since the party. Probably.

He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face and pulls on his hair a bit. Then he takes a deep breath and goes downstairs.

There are voices when he approaches the kitchen. Neil recognises Stuart's and Nicky's and his stomach churns with the desperate need to retreat back to his room and avoid this confrontation. He stops just outside the kitchen to gather his wits.

“I can see the family resemblance,” Nicky is saying good-naturedly. “She looks badass.”

“She was that,” Stuart agrees. Neil can hear the mild amusement that is carefully tucked into the folds of his voice like a bookmark. “She and Nathaniel were always very similar. I think that's why they sometimes locked horns, so to say. But he loved her fiercely.”

Something cold trickles down Neil's spine.

“That's so sad,” Nicky murmurs. “I wish we could have known her.”

“Thank you,” Stuart says. Neil's muscles are locked up in distress but something propels him forward anyway and he enters the kitchen with his jaw clenched tight and his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. The fact that Nicky's brought the twins with him barely registers until Andrew coughs where he's leaning against the fridge and looks pointedly at the t-shirt Neil is wearing.

Neil ignores him and looks at the only person he can stand acknowledging right now.

“Can you pick me up at three tomorrow?” he asks Thea. His voice trembles treacherously.

“Sure thing, pumpkin,” she says and moves toward the door. She taps Stuart's shoulder discreetly on her way past. “I'd better get going. See you tomorrow, Neil.”

Neil nods numbly and waits until Stuart and Thea have both left the room. The silence in their wake squeezes around his chest like a shirt three sizes too small and he stares at the opposite wall without blinking, struggling to breathe.

“Neil,” Nicky breathes at last and steps forward. “Your uncle called me... Neil, I'm so sorry.”

All at once Neil feels ashamed. He doesn't know if he can forgive Stuart for meddling in his business like that, but he's not angry at Nicky or the others, if they were even aware of the arrangement at all. He just feels – tired. Like a waste of space. It's not Nicky's fault he's too much of a human failure to make his own friends.

He wishes he'd never found the contract. He wishes his mother had never taken the bullet that was meant for him.

There are hot tears welling up in his eyes, their roots going deep and heaving into the wet soil of sorrow inside his chest. He clenches his fists and presses his chin down against his chest but nothing helps, the shaking inside him doesn't cease. Crying is the last thing he wants to do right now, in front of these people, but he can't help it – and then Nicky is there, folding him up in the most careful, delicate hug.

He doesn't think he's ever been held in this way.

“I'm sorry,” Nicky says again. “I knew it was wrong. I just – we really needed the money, and I thought... there's no harm. You know? I'd make a new friend and you'd have a reason to leave the house and your uncle would be happy, and we could pay off Andrew's medical bills and maybe have some left over to visit Erik in the fall. I'm sorry.”

Neil wants to say that it's fine, that he's fine, but his jaw is locked so tight all that gets out is a small, broken sound.

“Christ, Nicky, let him breathe,” Aaron says, even though Nicky is barely touching him at all. Neil doesn't have the energy to lift his face from where it's braced against Nicky's shoulder and Nicky puts one hand lightly on the back of his neck, stroking the sweaty curls at the nape.

“We still want you to be our friend, you know,” Nicky says. “I only told those two about it anyway, the others don't know. We all want you there.”

It's a bit too much to process, so Neil decides to lock that away to think about later. He gets himself back under control and starts to strain against Nicky's embrace. Nicky lets go immediately and takes a step back. His smile is a bit wobbly when he asks: “So do you forgive me?”

Neil rubs his wrist over his eyes before uncomfortably smoothing down his fringe to give himself some cover.

“It's okay,” he says. His voice feels itchy on the way out and he coughs to get rid of the sensation. “You already annulled it, so... Wait, don't you need, what about Andrew's medical bills?”

“We'll manage, honey, don't you worry about that. Besides, we have two soon-to-be-doctors in the family and Abby helps out where she can,” Nicky says, waving him off. “Will you still come to practice on Sunday? We need you, Neil. Kevin's unbearable without you.”

That draws a short, surprised bark of laughter from Neil. He rubs at his eyes again and finally dares to look at Andrew, who is still leaning against the fridge and watching the exchange with hooded eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I'll come.”

Nicky hugs him again, but releases him quickly when Neil clams up at the sudden contact.

“Good,” he beams. “Great. We're counting on you. And can you please reply to a message every once in a while? I'm fucking tired of your passive-aggressive _seen 3:02 AM_. Jesus, do you ever sleep?”

“I nap,” Neil says defensively. Nicky snorts and rolls his eyes.

He's about to say something else when Aaron's phone rings. Both Andrew and Nicky instantly turn and look at him and Aaron goes a little pale, fumbling his phone out of his pocket and nearly dropping it before he answers.

“Kate?”

“ _No, it's Marissa_ ,” the voice on the other end says calmly. “ _I just drove Katelyn to the hospital. It's time, Aaron._ ”

Aaron curses and drops his phone for real. There's a sudden flurry of activity and Neil doesn't know what's going on until Nicky grabs him and shoves him to the door, chucking a pair of shoes at him in the process while Andrew and Aaron try to figure out which ones are Aaron's sneakers and which ones belong to Andrew. They're in the car within five minutes, Andrew batting Nicky away from the driver's seat despite Nicky's protests that he isn't supposed to strain his leg.

“Nicky,” Andrew says. “Shut up or I will drag you out of the car myself and leave you behind.”

Nicky shuts up, and Andrew floors the gas pedal.

*

Marissa greets them cheerfully in the waiting room and hands over Katelyn's hospital bag to Aaron, who takes it and disappears without even being told where to go. Belatedly Neil remembers that this is the hospital Aaron and Katelyn work at. Nicky takes one look at Andrew's face and wisely decides to go and get them all coffee and snacks from the vending machine, and Neil sits down on one of the hard plastic chairs with Marissa. She's leafing through a magazine and humming, thumbing out lightning-quick text messages on her phone from time to time, but otherwise there is only the low murmur of the other occupants of the waiting room and the sound of Andrew's cane and shoes squeaking on the linoleum as he paces up and down. In the confusion he's ended up with one of Aaron's sneakers and one of his own.

Hours pass. The waiting room is stiflingly hot despite the sluggish ceiling fan churning air and Neil dozes off more than once. Andrew keeps pacing and Nicky is curled in a corner with his phone, biting his cuticles and chatting erratically with some of the other people that pass through. The hospital coffee is predictably awful and makes Neil jittery but no more awake, and he startles horribly when he opens his eyes after dozing off again to find his head pillowed on Andrew's shoulder.

Andrew's eyes are open and steady when he looks down at Neil.

“Sorry,” Neil whispers, mouth dry and eyes itchy. He gets up and picks up Andrew's earlier pacing to get some blood flowing in his legs again.

He stops by Nicky's corner.

“Should I be here?” he asks in a low voice. “I can call Thea to come and pick me up...”

“No, no, that's alright, you're here now,” Nicky says quickly. “Unless you want to go? You don't have to stay of course. Actually, though, if you don't mind, could you pick us up some food?”

Neil nods and declines the money Nicky holds out to him. He has enough in his wallet to cover the cost of some sandwiches and a few cups of proper coffee. It's a relief to step outside despite the heat – Neil's never liked hospitals, they make him feel trapped – and he takes the time to stretch his legs a little before returning to the waiting room with the food.

The others are gone when he gets back. He panics for a small moment, then sits on a chair and takes a few deep breaths. They haven't abandoned him. Someone will come back for him soon. Katelyn and the twins will be fine.

“Neil!”

He startles and looks up. Marissa is at the end of the hallway, beckoning him over, and he hastily grabs the bag of sandwiches and the tray of coffees and hurries after her.

“It all went well,” she grins breathlessly. “Katelyn's still pretty out of it but I mean, she just popped two entire persons out of her–”

“Great,” Neil says quickly, holding out the coffee tray to her. Marissa laughs and takes one, leading him up a flight of steps and through a door into another hallway.

“Are you sure they want me there right now?” Neil asks. The bag with the sandwiches is bumping awkwardly against his leg with every step. “Shouldn't it be just, you know, family? And close friends?”

“You are a close friend, Neil,” Marissa says. “Besides, I'm pretty sure the rest of the rabble will all rock up here within the hour, I've sent out a mass text already.”

She stops in front of a room and gestures for him to go inside first. Neil pushes open the door slowly, and when no one yells at him to get out he squeezes inside.

Katelyn's on the bed looking about as sweaty and exhausted as one would expect from someone who's just given birth to twins. She has one of them on her chest, the other is tucked safely into Aaron's arm. They're even tinier than Neil thought, wrapped in blankets with tufts of brown hair sticking out the top. Nicky is blubbering like a baby next to Aaron – the actual babies both being fast asleep – and Andrew is perched on the side of the bed, watching over them all with a calm face.

“Hey, Neil,” Katelyn murmurs groggily. “You're back among the living, I see.”

“Um, yeah,” Neil says uncomfortably. Andrew relieves him of the coffee tray and shoves one at Nicky to make him shut up, keeping half of the sugar packets for himself. “Congratulations, you two.”

Aaron laughs a little, his eyes still on his sleeping daughter.

“She's the one who did all the work,” he says, pointing at Katelyn.

“Aw, Aaron, you helped a bit,” Marissa grins, snagging the coffee that Aaron doesn't want. “You jacked off into a cup and all. Surely that counts for something.”

“Mari, be nice to my platonic life partner,” Katelyn says. “His ego is very fragile.”

Aaron snorts, but his attention is clearly still elsewhere. Neil tries to catch someone's eye to clear up his confusion and Nicky finally gets himself back under control and takes pity on him.

“They're not a couple,” he explains, gesturing at Katelyn and Aaron. “Sorry, I thought you knew. They went to med school together and became best friends. Aaron is...”

“Happily asexual and aromantic,” Aaron mutters.

“Yes, that,” Nicky says. “He and Katelyn are queerplatonic partners. They had a ceremony and all, it was really sweet. I never thought I'd be an uncle, you know...”

He tears up again and Andrew whacks him with Katelyn's medical chart. Nicky winces and then grins wetly.

“Oh man, I'm gonna be the _best_ uncle,” he says; then, when Andrew glares at him, amends that to: “Cousin. The best, er, first cousin once removed?”

“Have you chosen names yet?” Neil asks. He's still keeping his distance – babies are so fragile, and he's a little afraid that his mere presence is going to set one of them off and then Aaron and Katelyn will hate him forever for making their children cry.

“Alice and Luna,” Katelyn smiles. “We haven't decided who's who yet, though.”

“Andrew picked Luna,” Nicky says conspiratorially. “Like Luna Lovegood, from Harry Potter. Adorable, right?”

Andrew tries to hit him again but Nicky is faster this time and shelters behind Neil with a cackle.

“I still think you should have gone with Petunia for the other,” Andrew says sourly. “Then they would've been the Looney Tunes.”

“Yes, that's exactly why we didn't let you name both of them,” Aaron deadpans. Andrew shrugs and puts the medical chart back in its place. Then he walks over to Aaron and takes the baby from him, carefully supporting her head before settling her against his shoulder. She makes a snuffly little sound and goes right back to sleep.

“I want this one,” he says. “She smells funny.”

“Well, then,” Katelyn smiles. “Say hello to Luna, Uncle Andrew.”

Andrew whispers something in Luna's ear and strokes her hair. Alice hiccups in her sleep. They're lucky, Neil thinks, to have such a big loving family gathered around them already – and even more on their way.

*

_Open the front door. Surprise. K_

Neil stares at the message for a long moment before turning off the TV and pocketing his phone. It's past nine and he's already in his pyjamas. All he'd planned to do was watch _Inception_ with the cats and go to sleep.

When he opens the door he finds Kevin outside, wearing a white tuxedo and holding a matching hat in his hand. He grins and sweeps into a low bow before straightening up again.

“Evening,” he says. “What do you think?”

“You look like an ass,” is what Neil thinks. “What's this all about?”

Kevin steps aside to reveal Andrew, Matt and Nicky, all in similarly fancy attire, albeit in black. Andrew is wearing his pink suspenders, blackberry purple brogues and a shiny top hat at an angle; his black cane looks like an accessory to complete the outfit. Nicky is proudly sporting a silk waistcoat, gloves and a bow-tie, and Matt has a flower in his buttonhole and a cheery bright yellow tie.

“We're taking you out,” Kevin says, plopping his hat back on his head.

“In style,” Nicky adds, striking a pose. Andrew twirls his cane in his hand and Matt does a few clumsy tap-dance steps, then gives up and slides into a smooth moon walk instead.

“You're what?” Neil laughs. “I'm in my pyjamas!”

“We have a suit for you in the car,” Kevin says. “No excuses, you literally texted me an hour ago that you weren't sure whether to watch _Inception_ or _Donnie Darko_ or whether to stab yourself in the kidney for turning into a hipster.”

Neil rolls his eyes but goes to get changed into the suit they brought, which is a nice, shimmery midnight blue. He's forgotten how to do his tie, so he leaves it slung around his neck and goes back outside where Nicky shows him how to tie it, though his fingers are so fast and dexterous that Neil isn't sure he really follows. Then Nicky steps back, gives him a once-over and whistles, and they bundle him into the back of Andrew's car and drive off.

“So where are we going?” Neil asks, tugging at the knot on his tie. Andrew slaps his hand away – he smells nice, Neil notes dimly, something subtly spicy but not as overwhelming as the aftershave Kevin uses.

“There's a swing dancing club near campus,” Nicky says excitedly from the driver's seat. “It's open for everyone, you don't need to have any previous experience. Erik and I went a couple of times last year, it was great fun.”

He rambles on about the club and Neil fiddles nervously with the buttons on his suit. He's never been dancing before – never danced in public at least: grooving around the basement to P!nk and No Doubt doesn't really count, he thinks.

“Hang on, I made a playlist,” Nicky says, “Erik's sister is really big on electro swing and like, cabaret music and stuff like that...”

Neil leans back in his seat and lets himself drift on the music for a bit. Andrew's fingers are tapping along on his thigh and Kevin is sipping vodka from a small hip flask that he passes back and forth with Matt. They park on the outskirts of campus and walk the rest of the way, slow enough for Andrew to keep up; Nicky humming and Matt belting out a surprisingly good rendition of “Singing In The Rain” while he twirls around them and makes Kevin laugh.

“Where's Aaron?” Neil asks Andrew.

“Baby crisis,” Andrew says curtly. “Wanted to stay with Katelyn.”

“Alice burped at me the other day,” Nicky informs Neil. “I'm pretty sure I'm her favourite cousin.”

“You're her only cousin,” Andrew points out.

“Exactly,” Nicky preens.

The club is bright and friendly, all blond wood and gleaming parquet; rows upon rows of bottles lined up behind a polished bar counter and tables dotted around the edge of the dance floor where elegantly dressed people are clustered together to drink and catch their breaths. Nicky and Matt find dance partners almost right away and disappear into the crowd, but the real surprise is Kevin, who is unexpectedly good at swing dancing and doesn't even need a proper drink first. Neil watches him a bit slack-jawed from one of the tables and starts when Andrew bumps his shoulder on his way past with two drinks balanced awkwardly in one hand.

“It's just grenadine,” he says when Neil eyes them critically. Neil sips on the deathly sweet concoction and shudders.

“Did you know Kevin can swing dance?”

“Kevin? Never,” Andrew says, amused, and knocks back half of his grenadine. Neil finds Kevin in the crowd again and points to where he's currently dancing with a pretty girl in a black hijab, then does a double-take and nearly spits out his drink.

“Oh, shit,” he says. “That's Thea.”

“Your chauffeur?”

“Yes,” Neil says, correcting himself to, “my friend” almost absent-mindedly and craning his neck so as not to lose sight of them. “I didn't know _she_ could swing dance either. Damn.”

“Looks like it's just us then,” Andrew comments idly, gesturing between them with his drink in hand. Neil looks at him and realises that they're alone for the first time since Allison's party. He swallows.

“Well?” Andrew says.

“Well what?”

Andrew nods at the dancers and puts his drink down.

“Wanna give it a go? Can't be worse than me.”

Neil fiddles with his tie, watching as Matt spins a girl around somewhere nearby and they nearly knock into another couple, laughing and apologising. Nicky and Kevin aside, lots of people look like they don't really know what they're doing but are having fun anyway.

“Well... alright,” he says slowly, taking a deep breath. “But we need partners...”

Andrew holds out his hand.

“With you?” Neil asks tremulously. Andrew shrugs, still offering his hand, and Neil takes it and hopes his palm isn't sweating.

They start small, just kind of bopping around to the music and figuring out ways to move together without Andrew's cane getting in the way, and once they get the hang of that and the crowd has swallowed them up Neil finds he's actually having fun. He lets Andrew twirl him around a lot and feels strangely elated, the bubbly sensation in his chest fizzing over into laughter every now and again. His face must be grenadine-pink and he's sure there will be sweat stains under his armpits in the morning, but for once he doesn't care. His mouth tastes sweet and his palm is damp but so is Andrew's, the music shakes something loose in him that he hadn't noticed being tense before, and through the whole thing Andrew's golden eyes never leave his.

It's past midnight when they finally take a break and find Nicky and Matt at the bar. Kevin is still spinning Thea around the dance floor, much to Neil's dismay, and both Nicky and Matt laugh at him and tease him about being protective of his “older sister” even when he insists that he's just upset because Kevin's a dumb jock and Thea is too good for him.

He doesn't notice that Andrew is still holding his hand until Matt looks pointedly at it and toasts him discreetly with his glass. Neil can feel himself flush and quickly looks away. He doesn't know what this means – it might just be Andrew being friendly, though that's admittedly not a thing Andrew is particularly renowned for.

It's nice, though. Neil doesn't want to ever let go. If he could spend the rest of his life surrounded by these people, holding Andrew's hand, he'd be happy, he thinks. His mother sacrificing herself for him when Nathan picked up that gun won't ever be okay, but maybe _he_ can be okay despite that, somehow.

*

Nicky drives them all back, hats discarded, ties loosened and top buttons undone. Kevin's even taken off his shoes and Matt is asleep in the passenger seat, snoring lightly. The coloured lights of the city slide over their faces, quiet and serene, and Neil finally gives in to the urge to put his head on Andrew's shoulder. Andrew's hand comes up and hooks into his hair, gently pulling on the curls in acknowledgement.

“Can we do that again some time,” Neil murmurs, hugging himself. Somehow he ended up with Andrew's suit jacket draped over his shoulders on top of his own. He inhales deeply, chasing the sweet, smoky scent of Andrew, and sinks a little deeper into his seat.

“'Course, darling,” Nicky croons from the driver's seat, delighted at the suggestion. “Any time.”

“Neil,” Kevin mumbles, sprawled beside him in a daze. “Can you give me Thea's number.”

“Absolutely not,” Neil huffs.

“Please,” Kevin whines. “I'll make you blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Pretty please.”

Andrew snorts.

“Your blueberry pancakes have the taste and texture of a doormat, Day,” he grumbles.

“Well, then, Andrew will make you blueberry pancakes and I will make tea,” Kevin sniffs.

“I'm not making blueberry pancakes for Neil,” Andrew says. “He'll only pick out the blueberries and leave all the rest. Heathen.”

“That works perfectly for you though, doesn't it?” Nicky chimes in. “You only like the pancakey bits.”

“I like blueberries,” Andrew says tetchily. “When they're inside pancakes.”

“Stay, please?” Neil says. “All of you? We have guest rooms.”

There's a little silence, until Nicky says, “Yeah, why not?”

No one has any argument to that, and so they all pour out of the car when Nicky parks it in the driveway of Stuart's house and stumble inside. They try to be quiet but Stuart is a light sleeper and Neil's pretty sure that if Kevin walking into a chair didn't wake him up, then Nicky's shriek when one of the cats jumps up his leg definitely does. Nevertheless, he finds them all sleeping accommodations and spare toothbrushes, then changes back into his own pyjamas and falls into bed, convinced he'll be out like a light in no time.

He is not.

All the contented sleepiness from the car is gone the moment he lies down in his bed. He tosses and turns for a while, too hot at first and then too cold, feeling sweaty and clammy and uncomfortable in his own skin, legs aching after the unfamiliar exercise. He gives up at last and tip-toes into the kitchen, instantly beleaguered by hopeful cats that have definitely been fed dinner already, and finds a half-awake Kevin squinting at a water bottle in the light from the open fridge.

“It's water, Kevin, how many calories can it possibly have?” Neil grunts.

Kevin sighs and puts the bottle back in the fridge.

“I don't even know what I'm doing here,” he mutters.

“Same,” Neil says. “Are we having an existential crisis or going back to bed?”

Kevin pulls himself up on the kitchen table and makes grabby hands at Neil until he sits down beside him. Then he sighs and puts his head on Neil's shoulder, never mind that he has to bend down awkwardly to do it, and nuzzles his nose a bit into the collar of Neil's t-shirt.

“Hi,” Neil whispers, wrapping one arm loosely around Kevin's back.

“Hi,” Kevin whispers back.

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the faint humming of the refrigerator. Neil finds himself in the weird situation of fiercely missing this exact closeness between them whilst experiencing it at the same time, like some sort of reverse déjà-vu.

“Tell me about you and Jean,” Neil says.

Kevin sighs.

“We got together for a while, after – you know. We figured, maybe since we both got fucked over by Riko we'd make it work between us. We didn't.”

“Bummer,” Neil says. Kevin waves his hand around like he's trying to chase off a fly.

“It's okay,” he mumbles, “I don't – he's got Jeremy now. They're happy. I think.”

“But you're not,” Neil finishes the unspoken part.

“Noo,” Kevin moans, rubbing his face against Neil's bony shoulder again in distress. “I am happy, I just. Why are all the good people not for me, Neil?”

Neil doesn't know what to say to that and tangles his fingers in Kevin's short hair, smoothing it down.

“You know, sometimes I wonder how things would've gone if you'd been my boyfriend instead of Riko,” Kevin says quietly. Neil doesn't know how much he's had to drink – he didn't think Kevin got drunk at the club and the vodka from the car ride should have worn off by now, but maybe he's wrong. Either way it's easier to think about that instead of what Kevin just said.

“What?”

“You were good to me,” Kevin sighs. He sounds more resigned than bitter. “Guess I didn't deserve you either.”

“You didn't want me,” Neil points out carefully.

“Yes, well. I was an idiot.”

“Glad to hear we're in agreement on that,” Neil snorts, and then they're both laughing and Neil cards his fingers through Kevin's hair one more time before letting go. Kevin smells familiar, like the Herbal Essences shampoo he already used back in school and which Neil kept teasing him about because of the commercial with the moaning woman, and Neil puts his nose in Kevin's hair and sniffs him until Kevin laughs and shakes him off.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Neil says, “I'll give you Thea's number. But you need to be aware that if you two have drama I'll be on her side, not yours.”

“Fair enough,” Kevin mumbles. “Wait, is she okay with you giving me her number?”

“I can check,” Neil says.

“See that you do,” Kevin says primly, and Neil has to laugh again because Kevin is ridiculous and fuck, Neil _missed_ him.

“Hey, Kev?”

“Mmm?”

Neil hesitates, then forces himself to go on: “I'm sorry. For – you know.” He grimaces. “Shutting you out. My little disappearing act.”

“'S okay,” Kevin hums, patting his thigh. “What your father did... 'course that did a number on you. I wish you'd let me be there for you, but. You handled it your way.”

“Yeah,” Neil mutters. “Turns out my way isn't always the best way.”

“Look at us,” Kevin grins. “We really are having an existential crisis.”

Neil grins back at him and then sneaks his hands up Kevin's sides to tickle his ribs. Kevin makes a sound like a malfunctioning printer and slides off the table, flailing wildly.

“Go to sleep, Kev. You owe me blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”

Kevin salutes him tiredly, goes to grab the water bottle from the fridge after all and pads off back to his bed, barefoot and ruffled.

Neil shakes his head and gathers up one of the cats before going back to his own.

*

Neil wakes up to the smell of something burning.

He finds the source of the smell in the kitchen, where Kevin and Andrew are silently wrestling over a smoking pan and a bowl of blueberries, and Neil hurries to put the pan in the sink and turn off the stove, still groggy and half-awake after only a few hours of fitful sleep.

Kevin, at least, has the good grace to look slightly ashamed. Andrew just shrugs and sticks a spoonful of uncooked pancake batter in his mouth while Kevin clutches the blueberries protectively to his chest.

“I don't even know what to say,” Neil sighs, rubbing at his temples. “Matt and Nicky still asleep?”

Kevin and Andrew both nod in unison.

“Okay. I'm going back to bed.”

He's awake now, though, and lying down only makes him feel even more sluggish and spaced out, so he cracks open his window and takes a deep breath. Then he takes a long shower, gets dressed in his softest, most comfortable clothes and picks up Shimmy on the way back to his room.

He finds a surprise in the form of Andrew sitting on his bed in his underwear with a plate of wonky but only slightly charred-looking pancakes and a mug of tea.

He thrusts both at Neil and then sits there, frowning and looking uncomfortable, his hair a nest of cowlicks and pillow creases on his cheek, until Neil takes a tentative sip of his tea.

“It's too weak, isn't it,” Andrew says at once. “I told Kevin to leave it in longer, but would he listen? No.”

“It's fine,” Neil says, takes another sip and puts the mug safely out of the way onto the window sill. There are no forks, so he picks up one of the misshapen pancakes and rolls it up before taking a bite. Blueberry juice runs down over his fingers, staining them purple.

“So,” Andrew says, drumming his fingers on his thigh and radiating nervous energy next to him on the bed. “Were you just avoiding us because of your crisis or were you also avoiding me specifically because we had sex?”

Neil chokes a little on his pancake and puts the plate down on the floor.

“Uh,” he says, not sure what to do with his blueberry-stained hand. He clears his throat. “I... was a little bit avoiding you because we had sex and you left.”

“I see,” Andrew says. He holds out his hand and takes Neil's by the wrist; then, making sure that Neil is looking at him, tilts his head down and slowly licks the blueberry juice from his index finger.

Neil's stomach bubbles over like hot caramel.

“You're flirting,” he whispers. “See, I'm getting better at recognising that.”

“Well done,” Andrew hums, taking his finger in his mouth and _sucking_. “Is it working?”

Neil pulls his hand away with a sigh. There's a split second of hurt in Andrew's eyes before it's smoothed over by a neutral expression again.

“What do you want from me, Andrew?” Neil asks quietly, heart thudding in his throat. Andrew shrugs a bit.

“We could have – an arrangement.”

“Like you have with that bartender?” Neil says. Andrew shrugs again. “No,” Neil decides. “That's not what I want. I like you, Andrew. I liked sleeping with you, but if that's all you want, then... I think... we should just stay friends.”

“Why?” Andrew asks. “We can be friends and have sex.”

“Maybe you can,” Neil says, shaking his head. “But I can't.”

“Why?” Andrew demands again, frowning harder. He taps his fingers against his bare leg again in a frustrated rhythm. “Why not?”

“Because I like you,” Neil says again with more emphasis. “Look, I – I can't explain it. I like you differently than I like Kevin and Nicky and all the others. It's okay if you don't like me back but if we had sex and it meant something to me but not to you then... I don't want that. I'm sorry. Sex isn't like that for me.”

Andrew's hand twitches violently in his lap and his jaw clenches so tightly Neil can see the muscles tick under his skin.

“Why are you assuming it wouldn't mean anything to me,” he grits out.

“Um,” Neil says. “Because – you don't do relationships, and – you left, so I -”

“You're an idiot,” Andrew hisses. “I know Nicky and the others take some sort of perverse pleasure in psychoanalysing me when I'm not around to stab them in the kidney for it but you could've at least asked me first instead of listening to their bullshit.”

“Is it?” Neil asks, blinking hard. “Bullshit?”

“Mostly,” Andrew admits grudgingly. “Just because my relationships don't always fit their definitions doesn't mean I don't want... that.”

Neil hums thoughtfully and rubs at a bit of dried blueberry juice on his hand.

“What else is on the table, then?” he asks. It's easier to say these things now that they've started this conversation. “Apart from friendship and sex?”

Andrew looks like he swallowed a handful of salty popcorn instead of sweet.

“Dating,” he grinds out, voice cracking a little halfway through. “And friendship, and sex?”

“Dating and friendship sounds good,” Neil whispers. “And maybe the sex, too, sometimes.”

Andrew nods curtly. “Right. That. Let's do that.”

Finally, the smile that has been beating its wings against the corners of Neil's mouth pecks its way free into a grin. He feels like his heart is beating double time and his stomach is being happily wrung dry like a sponge.

“Yes, let's,” he says giddily, and then, “Do you want your t-shirt back? I still have it here somewhere...”

“Keep it,” Andrew mumbles, scowling. Something marvellous happens as he does – his neck flushes a soft, shy pink, and Neil wonders at that reaction to something so innocent as Neil wearing Andrew's clothes when he could keep a perfectly straight face through sucking on Neil's finger earlier.

“I think you should wear it,” Neil insists. “I like it better when it smells like you.”

The blush deepens and spreads, and Neil decides he rather wants to kiss Andrew now, if that's alright with Andrew.

Thankfully, it is.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter playlist:  
> [Avril Lavigne – Complicated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-R7bVs8iex4)  
> [The Killers – Mr Brightside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGdGFtwCNBE)  
> [Justin Timberlake – Cry Me A River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DksSPZTZES0)  
> [U2 – Sweetest Thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WybiA263bw)  
> [Meatloaf – I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9X_ViIPA-Gc)

_(One year later...)_

The first day of September is warm and golden like an overripe apple. The café is bustling with customers, the door is propped open to let in the noise of the street outside and the occasional breeze. Nicky puts on his best back-to-school playlist – Avril Lavigne, The Killers, Justin Timberlake; a potpourri of the music of his own messy teenage years with a bit of extra nostalgia mixed in. Andrew rolls his eyes, steaming milk for the next order, and Nicky makes a point of shimmying his hips on his way past to put the brownie tin back in the display case.

Whenever he has a small break he looks over to where Katelyn and Aaron are nestled in the corner with the baby twins. The nickname Looney Tunes has unfortunately stuck around, but it's not as if they're old enough to take offense yet, and they love their Uncle Andrew so much they'll giggle and squeal at anything he says. Nicky sniffs and reminds himself that he's still their favourite cousin and that _he's_ the one who made Alice stop crying at Matt's birthday brunch when not even Neil shyly singing her a lullaby had managed to calm her down.

“Hi, Nicky. Could I get some of that iced apple tea with lemon, please?”

Speak of the devil, he thinks and smiles brightly at his favourite customer.

“Coming right up, Mr Hatford,” he says, winking, and Neil laughs and drops a tenner in the tip jar when Nicky pushes his money back across the counter.

“Don't call me that,” he grimaces. Something catches his eye and Nicky turns around in time to see Andrew returning from the kitchen with a freshly baked blueberry pie. “Hey babe,” Neil grins shyly, leaning over the counter to press a sloppy kiss to Andrew's cheek when he puts down the pie. Nicky is delighted to see Andrew's neck go pink at the gesture.

He busies himself with making Neil's iced tea while the two of them exchange a few cosy murmurs across the counter and Andrew wraps up a slice of blueberry pie for Neil without being asked. Hiding a smile in his hand, Nicky sneaks over to the laptop and skips the next song in favour of U2's “Sweetest Thing,” which he has unofficially decided is Neil and Andrew's couple song ever since Neil sang it at karaoke and Andrew couldn't take his eyes off him. Andrew shoots him a dirty glare when he notices, but Nicky plasters on his best innocent expression and hands over Neil's iced tea.

“Hey, I like the new hair colour. Suits you,” he says, tugging on a blue curl that has escaped the confines of Neil's bright orange bandanna. “You look like a merman. How's it going with your job?”

“It's not a job,” Neil mutters, rolling his eyes. “Just volunteer work.”

“Just because you're not getting paid for it doesn't mean it's not a job,” Nicky insists. “Your colleagues still flirting with you? Are the cats behaving themselves?”

“Oh, I think I've found one for Renee and Allison,” Neil says excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Part Norwegian forest cat. They're really chatty and they have this really amazing thick, long fur. Renee's coming in tomorrow to look at him.”

“Aww, that's wonderful!” Nicky croons. “I'm glad they're finally adopting.”

Neil grins and steps aside to let another customer place their order. Nicky whips up a quick latte and sends them on their way.

“I'd better go,” Neil says apologetically. “Thea's waiting outside. She's meeting Kevin and I have to drop by the shelter because Stuart wants to make a donation. Hey, when's Erik coming?”

Nicky smiles and feels something relax and smooth out in his chest at the thought of his husband visiting soon.

“Next week,” he hums. “You are coming to the pumpkin fair with us, right? I notice you haven't been to the pub _or_ our last three movie nights, you antisocial fuck.”

“I'm coming,” Neil nods. “Andrew promised me we'd go apple picking.”

“I did no such thing,” Andrew grumbles. “I said you could go apple picking while I get cider doughnuts and watch you risk your stupid neck from a distance.”

“Same difference,” Neil grins. “It's still a date.”

Andrew mutters something grouchy under his breath and turns away to passive-aggressively re-stack cups. Nicky needs a moment to get himself back under control at how cute they are.

“Neil! I'm not waiting on you forever!” Thea calls from the doorway, holding two bicycles and her helmet. Neil hastily picks up his own and drains half of his iced tea to make it easier to transport, then salutes them and only gets slightly distracted by the baby twins on his way out when Luna squeals at him.

“Be safe! Don't get into an accident!” Nicky calls after him. “And for god's sake get Allison to design you some proper biking shorts, those things are hideous!”

“Aren't they just,” Andrew purrs beside him, leaning heavily on the counter and following Neil's progress with hooded eyes. “I hate them. So much.”

“You should take them off him,” Nicky advises. “It's for the greater good.”

“Mm,” Andrew hums.

Nicky pulls up a Meatloaf song on his laptop – “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)” – and mouths along passionately into a spoon, dancing out of reach of the wet rag Andrew throws at him and laughing when he trips himself backward into a box of take-out cups in the process.

“ _And I would do anything for love... and you know it's true and that's a fact_ ,” he sings, waving his spoon around like a conductor's baton.

“Shut the fuck up, Nicky,” Andrew says, but the flush on his neck is still clearly visible.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://annawrites.tumblr.com) if you want!


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